


Secrets

by almasy



Category: due South
Genre: Crossover, Drama, M/M, My first fanfic (and it shows), Slash, So many crossovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-06-02
Updated: 2000-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-10 20:34:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11134236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almasy/pseuds/almasy
Summary: RayK and Fraser have a mutual friend - a friend with a sinister secret which leads to her attempted murder. And in discovering her secret, they may discover something about themselves...





	Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on the Due South Archive roughly a million years ago and imported by Speranza via AO3's Open Doors project. I'm in the process of updating the formatting and I thought I'd keep it up for nostalgia purposes, but don't go here expecting a masterwork!
> 
> Contains the most random appearances of X-Files, ER and Twin Peaks characters humanly possible.

Fraser was with a woman. Nothing too unusual in that, really - his buddy was the kind of man who could have any woman he wanted and Kowalski knew it. Only he knew this girl and the emphasis was most definitely on 'girl'. She was barely eighteen, barely legal. Surely Fraser knew that. 

He backed up out of the apartment before Diefenbaker had had a chance to utter one single protestation. The wolf did, however, hold Kowalski in a steely warning gaze until he was out in the hallway and the door was closed. Stan knew better than to challenge Dief; there could be only one winner and the thought of that overgrown mutt gloating ever time he came near was more than enough to hasten him from Fraser's room. He would've gone anyway - Dief just moved him along a little. His partner wasn't with women all that often and when he was it was surely a private matter. Only Fraser's taste in women didn't usually run to eighteen-year-old college students. This was something new. Since when had Benny gotten kinky on him? 

Kowalski smiled a wry smile as he slid down the wall outside Fraser's apartment. //I wonder if he knows who she is...// he thought, then gave himself an immediate mental slap. Of course Fraser knew who she was! That whole code of chivalry thing surely couldn't allow this Mountie to bed a girl and not even know her name...could it? 

He sighed, running a hand back over his spiky wheat-blonde hair and pulled his knees up to his chest. His gun felt like a lead weight - and a spiky one at that - against his knees and pressed into his torso so he reached into his faded old jacket and pulled it from the holster, resting it on his knees with a hand on the top. The old woman going down the stairs gave him a wary and disapproving glance then hurried on her way. Kowalski barely even noticed her. 

//How in the hell did Fraser meet her?// he asked himself. //I mean, it ain't every day that a chick from MIT comes to town...especially her...// His thoughts were cut short as he registered noise from inside the apartment - his ears tuned back in and he knew it was more than the wolf padding around the room. Someone was up. 

He leaned closer to the door, hoping to catch a snatch of conversation, but the was none to catch. Just background noise that he couldn't work out. He moved back and rested his head against the old plaster wall, sighing again. //What the hell am I doing?// he thought. //I'm spying on my best friend for Christ's sake! And why? Because of her...? Because of him...?// He didn't know. He genuinely had no clue. 

"Let go, Ben." He heard a voice. A feminine voice. From inside the apartment. An American voice, with not a Chicago accent as might have made at least a little sense to Stan but a Southern one, the accent of Mississippi or Alabama, even. His brow knitted in confusion. 

"Must you leave?" the male asked. Stan recognised Ben's voice even through the door and the wall. "You're sure?" Kowalski held his breath. 

"Yes, Ben, I'm sure." The click of heels on floorboards. She was moving. Moving...toward the door! Suddenly Kowalski panicked. He had no idea what to do, where to go, what he was even doing there - all he knew was he shouldn't be there, shouldn't see her, shouldn't've listened in...but he had. It was too late. He hauled himself to his feet and reholstered the gun, realising too late that he'd messed up his hair even more by running his hand through it. He pulled a pair of sunglasses from his top pocket and put them on not because of the sun but to over his eyes. She reached the door. She pushed it open...

"Fraser!"

"Ray!" Kowalski almost grimaced, covering his mouth with one hand, barely able to look up. So, it wasn't her after all. It was Ben. That was both better and worse at the same time. 

"I wasn't expecting you so, um, early," Fraser told him, a deep red flush spreading upward across his clean-shaven jaw into his usually snow-white cheeks. "Would you, uh, that is, would you like to come in?" Stan shrugged. 

"No, thanks all the same," he said. "Maybe if I didn't know you had a, um, err...if I didn't know you had company. No - I should be going. I guess you won't be needing a ride...?" Fraser shook his head slightly, but enough to displace a small lock of smooth brown hair which he swiftly tucked away. It was the first time Stan had ever seen him with a hair out of place. "See you later, Frase." He gave the tall, edgy, fully uniformed Mountie a brief nod, turned on his heel and was gone before Fraser knew what had happened. 

//Man, could I have handled that any worse?// he asked himself, running down the stairs and out of his partner's embarrassed gaze so fast he almost tripped. //I mean, it's not like you don't know the guy gets laid once in a while...even a Mountie needs a little company sometimes. But geez, I sure wasn't expecting her!// Ray stepped out of the building and made his way down to the GTO in a stunned silence. His morning had definitely started out a little different to the way he'd imagined it - little did he know there was more to come. 

\---

The girl's face was still in his mind as he made his way to his desk in the office, coffee in hand. Pulling off the heavy black leather jacket he sat down, piece after piece of her remembered and reassembled inside his head until she was there, whole and astoundingly beautiful. Yes, it was her; it had to be. But just what in the hell was she doing in Chicago? And, more to the point, just what was she doing in Benton Fraser's bed? 

Ray pulled the case file that was lying on his desk closer to him, opened it and began leafing through the pages, almost knocking his coffee from the table in the process and without even realising he was doing it. He wasn't seeing the faces of the suspected murderers but her face, pale, framed by that long, fine, straight blonde hair and inset with two star-like cobalt-blue eyes. He knew that hair was black now - he'd seen it not ten minutes before walking through the door - but it made no difference. She was still beautiful. Quite shockingly so. //Perhaps she belongs with Fraser, after all// he couldn't help but think. //The most beautiful girl I know together with the most beautiful man...//

"Kowalski!" Lieutenant Welsh's scream, undignified yet accepted amongst the officers of the 27th District, dragged Ray from his reverie by the scruff of the neck. He looked up from the file he wasn't really looking at and blinked at his boss. 

"Don't you mean Vecchio?" Detective Dewey muttered under his breath, passing across the room. The Lieutenant just glared at him with his lips pressed together for a few seconds as if deciding whether to make a reply or not then turned back to Kowalski. He knew it should be getting easier by now but calling a man Vecchio who wasn't Vecchio just never seemed right to him, and especially since the two were so different. 

"Ray!" he almost bellowed, taking the easy option. Ray Vecchio, Ray Kowalski - who knew which man he meant! He got to be right and save face. "I've been calling you for the past five minutes - get your butt in my office. Now!" He turned and marched with almost military precision back into the room from whence he came. Ray just sighed, picked up his cup, closed the file and began to trudge after him. 

"What've you been up to this time, Ray?" Dewey questioned with a grin from his new position perched atop Francesca's desk, stirring his own cup of coffee. Kowalski gave him his best fake smile and the finger as he passed by and into Welsh's office. 

The lieutenant closed the door behind him, crossing the room to his desk and leaving Kowalski to eyeball the pair of dark-suited persons seated to his left with a wary glance or two. There was a man and a woman, both immaculately groomed, in long, dark trenchcoats. Just from that he could tell they weren't cops. Unless it was internal affairs or something...

"Ray, sit down," Lieutenant Welsh commanded from behind his desk. Kowalski obeyed, seating himself across from the pair and although he was no longer looking at them he could tell they were there. Their presence was almost tangible. "I'd like to introduce you to Special Agents Mulder and Scully of the FBI." He rolled his eyes. He should've known. Feds. The mere mention brought a bitter taste to his mouth - he put the cup to his lips and took a mouthful. "You'll be working with them for the next week or so."

"I'll be what?" he spluttered, coffee going everywhere. "I'll be doing **WHAT?"**

"You'll..." Lieutenant Welsh began, only to be cut off. 

"I think I should explain, Lieutenant," the female agent said. Kowalski raised his eyes to find her looking at him as he wiped away the coffee that had worked its way from his mouth, down his chin and was now dripping from his jaw into his lap. "A girl has gone missing and out superiors have suggested we ask your assistance on the case, Detective, as you have..." 

"You're pulling me off a double homicide for this?" Kowalski questioned, turning to Lieutenant Welsh. "You're pulling me off the biggest case I've had in months to, excuse me, babysit a couple of Feds on a missing persons?" Welsh nodded, almost glaring at Mulder and Scully. 

"I guess that's what it amounts to, Detective," he said with more than a touch of disgust. After all, he'd just pulled one of his best cops off of their big case to help find some teenager just because the FBI came a-calling. "Huey and Dewey will be taking your case. You'll be working with the agents here." Kowalski grimaced, stood, shrugged, then moved for the door all in one swift movement. He stopped at the exit. 

"Well, come on you two," he said with another fake smile. "I can't sit around all day when there's a girl to find, surely." He left the room and left Mulder and Scully staring after him. 

"Is her always like that?" Mulder asked Welsh with his eyebrows raised in a mix of shock and amusement. Welsh nodded. 

"Every second of every day," he said, smiling an evil smile. "Have fun, won't you." The two agents rose and followed Kowalski from the room, sharing a glance of mutual amusement as they headed for his desk. This was going to be some assignment. 

\---

"So, tell me about this girl you're chasing, agents, uh, I'm sorry - what were your names again?" He said it in such a sickly-sweet tone that Scully felt like slapping him and maybe wiping that smug smile off his face in the process. It wasn't often people got to her but when they did...

"Mulder," her partner said. "Special Agent Fox Mulder. And I can assure you - we want to be here as little as you do, Detective." Scully frowned. Since when was Mulder so, so, downright nice? "And we wouldn't be if our superiors didn't think it was so important." Kowalski nodded, dropping the grin.

"Dana Scully." Both men turned and looked at her oddly; she sighed and leant on the desk behind her, wishing it could open up and swallow her whole. She glanced back up at the men who were still watching her. "You were saying, Detective?" He nodded again, leaning back in his chair. 

"Yeah," he said. "As I was saying. So, who's the girl and why me?" 

"Well, the why part's because you've met her," Scully said, cutting in just as Mulder's mouth was opening to speak. 

"That is, the FBI has you on file as having been present during an operation concerning the missing girl," Mulder said, glancing at his partner who was now sitting on the desk behind them, swinging her legs distractingly. "And as for who - well, she's the daughter of Henrik Giger-Dahmer, director of the FBI." Ray froze completely, eyes riveted to Mulder even after he'd spoken the words. She was missing? 

He couldn't speak. His throat felt suddenly tight, like it was closing up so he couldn't breathe. She was missing! He blinked. Once, twice; a third time as his gaze shifted to the redhead sitting across from him atop the desk with her hands shoved underneath her thighs, swinging her legs like a schoolgirl. For some reason that almost made him angry. He turned back to her partner, the tall dark-haired man with the serious face and the smiling eyes that usually made him seem appealingly happy but they just served to anger Ray further, through no fault of their own. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, counted to ten and hoped to God that the pair of them would be gone when he looked up. No such luck. They were still there, as girly and as smug as ever. 

"Darcy?" he questioned, although his voice was more of a squeak than a voice. He took a mouthful of lukewarm coffee, swallowed, coughed and started again, running a hand through his hair, not noticing how they were both watching him like hawks. "Darcy Giger-Dahmer? You mean Darcy, right?" Mulder nodded solemnly, his eyes smiling. Scully nodded slowly, swinging her legs. 

"Yes, that's her," Mulder said. "Darcy Giger-Dahmer." Scully cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. 

"Do you know her?" she asked. Ray's eyes dropped to the desk and he picked up a pencil, tapping it what he hoped looked like absently against the back of his hand. 

"Who?" he questioned. "Darcy?"

//Who the hell else could I mean?// Scully thought, but replied: "Yes, Darcy." She stopped swinging her legs, suddenly serious. 

"No," Kowalski said, eyes rooted to the desk and its many coffee stains that he was adding to as he spoke. "I mean yes. We met a couple of times a year or so back - we were protecting the house. But I suppose you knew that, right" His clear blue eyes flickered up and met Scully's green ones. "Right?" 

"We knew about the protection," she said. "We didn't know you'd met her."

The ensuing silence was awkward and seemed to Ray if no one else to last forever. Finally he stood, scraping his chair back and lifting up his jacket, eyes everywhere in the bustling office but on the two agents.

"I'll see you outside," he said. "I'd suggest we take my car and I presume we have someplace to go." And he left the room at that. Mulder turned to Scully with his eyebrows raised in that same weird look of shocked amusement. 

"What do you make of him?" he asked in a low, almost conspiratorial voice, leaning toward his partner. 

"I don't know," she replied, easing herself from the desktop. "But one thing's for sure. He's not telling us the whole truth." Mulder nodded his agreement and they began their walk to the exit. "He knows something. And I'm going to find out what it is." 

\---

Scully caught up to Kowalski as he reached his parked GTO and wasted no time in climbing into the passenger side. Mulder arrived moments later, sighing loudly as he let himself into the back, making a silent promise to himself to get his partner back for stealing his seat. Not that it was really his seat, of course, but there had always been a sort of unspoken agreement between the two of them that he got the front seat if someone else was driving; at least, that's the way Mulder saw it. In reality, he just usually made sure he got there first. 

Stan turned the key in the ignition and his treasured possession sprang to life under them - he revved the car violently, speeding away from the kerb and the station with a loud squeal of tires that helped illicit protestations from Mulder, only they didn't so much slow him as amuse him. Gunning the engine, a smile broke out over his lips. He wasn't really sure why, but Scully guessed it was a mix of velocity and her partner's discomfort, something she was almost ashamed to say she understood. Before she knew it and before she could stop it, her perfectly made-up lips were smiling, too. 

Things hadn't been going well between the agents for the past few months. For a start, Mulder's constant leanings to the paranormal to the point where every case they saw just *had* to be an alien abduction or an act of magic was grating on Scully's professional, logical-explanation-for-everything scientific nerves; but that wasn't all. He'd started to take her so much for granted - phoning her at all hours of the day and night and expecting her to drop everything just because he said so, sending her to see his creepy 'friends' or to a whole other city on some silly wild goose chase. Well, she'd had enough, and she was seriously considering asking for a transfer; working closer to her medical roots had never before seemed such an appealing option. At least then she'd be away from Mulder's selfishness, not to mention his new girlfriend. Meddling little interfering bitch...

Mulder, meanwhile, was almost blissfully unaware; as far as he was concerned things couldn't have been better between them if they'd won the lottery or actually proved the existence of extra-terrestrials. Sure, Scully seemed a little moody, but she did exactly what he asked without complaint just like always so he put it down to PMS. And his love life was great - not only was Kelly the barmaid from down the block a complete stunner, but they actually had more in common than he'd thought at first. After all, he liked football and before she'd started working at the bar she'd been a football cheerleader...

Scully finally took the hint and fastened her seatbelt after the third time she almost fell out of her seat due to Ray's high-speed cornering. As the belt snapped fast she took a peek in the rear-view mirror and stifled a giggle as she saw Mulder flung from one side of the back seat to the other then quickly straighten himself, his clothes and his hair up again only to have it all done over with the next corner. Ray had noticed, too, and that only made his cornering even harsher. It probably wasn't doing his suspension any good, he reasoned, but it sure as hell was fun to see that greasy-haired weasel of an FBI agent flung all over like that From now on, everywhere they went he'd be driving like that. It was all worth it for the look on the guy's partner's face alone. 

The car screeched to a halt outside the apartment block, sending Mulder flying with his whole body weight against the back of Scully's seat. His right shoulder took most of the blow and he winced momentarily though more from embarrassment than pain; his weight against the seat gave Scully quite a jolt but it still wasn't enough to wipe the smile off her face, Stan noticed. In fact, it was all she could do to keep from collapsing into a fit of laughter, and he found himself frowning at her, wondering what exactly the guy had done to make her so mad. But then, as if sensing his eyes on her, her head snapped round toward him, all traces of the smile vanished. He had to admire that professionalism. 

"Shall we, Detective?" she more stated than asked, her gaze as crisp as her words. He nodded twice, turned, and the two of them exited this vehicle simultaneously then gathered on the sidewalk. They waited as Mulder recovered his composure from his recent connection with Kowalski's passenger seat then the three of them - Kowalski, Mulder and Scully - made their way inside. The search had begun. 

\---

Detective Stan Kowalski's reluctance to give any sort of aid other than as a chauffeur had begun to find Scully mildly perplexed by the end of their first day together, and what made it even worse was that judging by everything everyone she'd talked to had said about him, he should've been the best damn officer she'd ever met. The profile she'd read was a veritable treasure trove of brilliant references for this man, the guy who had a stunning number of citations for bravery and a number of closed, completed cases to match, yet there he was, virtually mute, and when he did speak it was merely to utter some sarcastic comment or other under his breath. The contrast between report and reality was something Scully couldn't help but recognise. She began to doubt whether this was actually the same man at all - okay, so he wasn't Detective Raymond Vecchio as the file had said but that file had been altered to accommodate the new guy anyway. The file she had may have said 'Detective Raymond Vecchio' on the front in that smudgy Chicago PD typewritten ink, but it was supposed to tell her about the man posing as Vecchio, Detective Stanley Raymond Kowalski. That night, she began to doubt that it did. 

As he drove her and her near catatonic partner back to their hotel that night, Scully found herself sneaking a peek at him from the corner of her eye; he sure looked like the guy in the file - short blonde hair, blue eyes, 5'10 1/2," kind of skinny - but pretty soon that wasn't what she was looking for anymore. She was completely captivated by the way each streetlight they passed lit up his oddly angular face, how his brow seemed to furrow in concentration as he drove, how his skin seemed almost ghostly white against the dark upholstery. The alternating darkness and light playing across his features was fascinating, exposing then quickly hiding every little imperfection in that near perfect skin, highlighting his sweeping cheekbones and hard jaw with shadows unlike anything she'd ever seen. Or perhaps she just hadn't been looking. 

"Agent Scully, wouldn't you mind telling me why you're staring at me?" Kowalski's voice broke the silence along with Scully's stare. 

"I wasn't staring," she said, just a little too quickly, her voice just a little too strained. Kowalski smiled. 

"Yes, you were," he told her. "You have been for the last five minutes at least. So, what's so fascinating about me that you're staring like that?" Scully swallowed, giving herself a quick mental slap and tried to come up with a good excuse for all he attention she'd been paying. She concluded, after a brief reflection, that there wasn't a *good* excuse.

"Oh, no reason," she said, almost wincing at her own words. Lately every time she opened her mouth something silly slipped out, and she was sure her good reputation was suffering because of it. "I just, well, I was sure I'd seen you somewhere before." Stan almost laughed it was so trite, and Scully herself couldn't believe what she was saying. 

"Well, I'm sure you've seen my file," he said with a conscious effort to keep his amusement to himself. Even so, Scully heard it. "Maybe that's where you've seen me." Stan knew he was teasing and expected her to snap back but all Scully could do was nod, her short red hair falling into her eyes. 

"I guess so," she said dully, pushing back the stray strands of hair from her cheek with one pristine white hand and knowing she'd come off sounding like the silly schoolgirl she'd acted earlier. She almost hung her head she felt so degraded. Still, that for Scully was the perfect end to a perfect day - caught staring at a Chicago police officer who she really wasn't interested in despite her best efforts to convince herself to the contrary. Try as she might she just couldn't raise her interest above the admission that Detective Kowalski was rather cute in his own way. It was fairly depressing, really, to think that nowadays she had to make a conscious effort to feel any attraction at all. It wasn't that she didn't get offers - hell, she got them all the time - but not a one of them was what she wanted. The few people she counted as friends told her she shouldn't be so picky, trying to feel lightning strike on the first meeting, and deep down she knew they were right; the only problem was that unless a man could raise more than a 'he's fairly cute' from her, she just could not be bothered. 

The really strange thing was that a couple of years ago, she would've jumped at the chance to date any number of the guys who were asking her out now, and perhaps she might even have considered Kowalski even though he wasn't exactly her type. Now all she felt like was a TV movie and chocolate cake instead of dinner and sex, but she just put it down to hormones. 

They pulled up outside the hotel at quarter past ten; Stan gave her a hand with extracting the semi-conscious Mulder from the back seat of the GTO and as she hauled him through the entrance and into the foyer she gave the cop a nod of thanks. He left soon after, quite unsure what he thought of the strange female agent. She was a mystery. 

\---

Things had not gone at all well that day, all things considered. Aside from the fact that she and Mulder had been paired with a frustratingly inept cop (although she had a feeling he was just acting the part), their trips about town had led them precisely nowhere. None of the girl's old school friends had seen her since they graduated except for two or three, all of whom had heard nothing from her for at least the past six months. Then there was the mysterious disappeared ex-best friend, and even better, the old ex-boyfriend. Andy, she though his name was, or Sandy or Randy, but whatever he was called, after a fairly indelicately phrased question, her partner had found himself in a crumpled heap on the floor. Andy/Sandy/Randy had been a wrestler in high school as well as a football player which he was still at college. Mulder got a beating and Scully was torn between pulling her gun and laughter. In the end, Kowalski had had to stop it, but not before giving her one hell of a weird look. So now, after a day on the case, she had a headache from the number of people they'd seen, spent what seemed like hours in a car, been teamed up with a less than forthcoming cop, been caught staring at said less than forthcoming cop, had to fly in from D.C., and had her partner hit by an overgrown musclebound schoolboy. Oh, and Kowalski probably thought she was an immature psycho but hey, what did that matter? 

In reality, however, Stan did not think she was an immature psycho. Sure, she was a little eccentric, but by the time he'd reached his apartment and made it into bed, he'd already decided that he liked her - after all, she was the first even remotely human Fed he'd ever had the pleasure of meeting after so many robots and sleazeballs. She looked perfect with all that red hair, green eyes and stark white skin, even if she was a tad on the short side, but all that aside the woman obviously had some problems. He liked knowing she was flawed and he liked it even better because she knew it. And it was fairly plain to see that she knew he knew more than he was letting on. She was perceptive, he'' give her that.

Her partner, on the other hand, that slimy greaseball Fox Mulder, seemed just like every FBI agent he'd ever met. Tall, handsome, obviously quite well built, which wasn't all quite the norm, but there was that quality about him that just screams 'I know more than you do, I'm better than you, stay out of my way'. He was cocky, far too self-assured for Stan's liking. If this assignment had been just with Scully he might've been able to cope, but no. It appeared it was Scully with Mulder or no Scully at all. 

Stan Ray tried to go to sleep thinking about Scully's green eyes, her hair, the endearing schoolgirl-like way she had of swinging her legs that he'd found so infuriating earlier, but just as he was drifting away there was a crisis. The attractive, short and superficially flawed FBI agent was pushed aside and in her place stood a tall young woman, a girl in her late teens, black-haired, blue-eyed with a smile like sin. He dreamt that night that he held her in his arms, felt her lips on hers, his fingers in her hair, or rather all the other way around. She was there in his dreams all night. That night, he dreamt of Darcy. 

\---

The next week was pure hell for Stan; it was that simple. Days of endless boredom, clocking up more miles on the precious GTO whilst chauffeuring his two temporary partners fairly pointlessly about the city, or spent more time in the office or in the agents' hotel room on the phone. They found absolutely nothing - much as that little fact surprised Mulder and Scully, it wasn't exactly a revelation to Stan. He'd been convinced since the moment he knew she was missing that they wouldn't find her. Scully knew it and he knew she knew it but neither of them said a word; besides, even in Scully had said something he would've denied it. He couldn't tell her. He just couldn't...

The three of them, Kowalski and the two agents, had met on Wednesday and it was now late Sunday night as Stan polished off his fifth beer and somehow managed to drag himself from his sofa into the bedroom, knocking the remnants of a three-day-old take-out pizza onto the floor as he did so. Ordinarily he would've cursed out loud as the semi-gelatinous mess collided with his floorboards but that night he was too exhausted to care. The long day spent sitting stationary in the corner of Mulder's crummy hotel room while he and Scully took turns to phone all the hospitals in Chicago and the surrounding area had been less than thrilling to say the least, and had somehow left him completely drained. He guessed it was that horrible recurring image he got in his head every time they dialled a new number, of Darcy lying stone cold on a slab somewhere. It was terrifying. But not so terrifying as to keep him from sleep - he was too far gone for anything to bother him, exhausted from all the crap he'd endured. 

Thursday, the day after Mulder had been battered by Darcy's musclebound ex, the three of them spent at Ray's desk in District 27, phoning round all the friends Darcy had had who didn't live within the reasonable driving radius, and as expected, nothing. Ray suspected Scully had guessed they'dfind nothing and it was obvious, to him at least, that she thought thewhole exercise was a complete waste of time. But he could also tell that her partner was in no fit state for a day-long drive around the city. The realisation struck him as funny. 

Friday came and Ray spent most of it behind the wheel of his car ferrying the redhead and her black-eyes partner around from hotel to hotel around the city. Another pointless exercise, it seemed to him, but who was he to question the authority of the FBI? Especially not if he wanted to keep both himself and his partner out of the investigation. 

The routine for Saturday played out like the day before, only this time with the three of them doing the rounds with hostels and hospitals. They all ate cheeseburgers in the GTO before he dropped them off and he caught Scully half wincing half grinning as Mulder's bruised jaw gave him grief. Ray was pretty amused himself, but definitely not for the same reasons as his strange car buddy. Then Saturday had merged into Sunday and brought with it the new joy of phonecalls from the hotel room all day. All day! But at least the whole fiasco had given him a chance to think. By Sunday night he was pretty sure he understood Scully, even if Mulder was as yet a mystery, and what he'd realised was enough to make him have to forcibly remove the smile from his lips with images of Lieutenant Welsh naked or other similar shudder-inducing horrors every time he saw her. He got Scully. He really got her. That was a triumph in itself. 

He'd just kicked off his boots when something occurred to him and he was almost angry with himself that it hadn't occurred to him before. He still had on old photo of her - Darcy - left over from the short time he'd known her. She'd left it in his glove box so he hadn't found it until the morning after he and the other guys from the Chicago PD had discontinued their guard on the Giger-Dahmers' home and he'd known he'd never see Darcy Giger-Dahmer ever again. He'd switched on his radio, tired quickly of the same insipid pop trash and reached into the glove box to retrieve some semblance of what he'd hoped would be good music, and what he'd found just sitting there amidst the cassettes and gloves (!), de-icer and various pairs of glasses was that photo. Just her sitting on the front steps of her house in a black long-sleeved T-shirt and faded blue jeans with holes in the knees. And on the back was written in her strange inimitable hand - 'Stan - I'm sorry and I hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive me one day. But most of all, thank-you. Thanks for an incredible fortnight and thanks for keeping me safe. I'll never forget you - don't you dare forget me. Darcy'. 

He found the photo in the bottom of a box, tucked into the back of the copy of American Psycho she'd given him the night they met. He fell asleep that night with Darcy beside his heart. 

\---

It was the phone that woke him on Monday morning, wrenching him from a nightmare that he was glad to be rid of, but the sense of dread that had come with it lingered as he picked up the receiver. 

"Hello?" he said, his voice tired and strained. He covered the mouthpiece and coughed as he waited for an answer, listening to the background noise at the other end of the phone. Whoever was phoning, it was busy where they were; there was a constant hum of activity with an occasional bubble of conversation he couldn't work out. 

"Detective Kowalski?" asked an unfamiliar male voice above the commotion, louder than Stan had expected to the point where he almost dropped the receiver. He was just a little edgy, he guessed, but then he thought about the words. No one was supposed to know he was Stan Ray Kowalski - he was still posing as Ray Vecchio..."This is Doctor Mark Greene down at County General calling for a Detective Stan Kowalski." Stan's breath caught in his throat. County General? That was one of the hospitals he'd seen with Mulder and Scully a few days earlier, and he was sure, absolutely *sure*, that he'd given his name as Detective Vecchio. He hadn't even given a first name, never mind his own full name...so how did this doctor know? Was he even a doctor? Had someone broken Vecchio's cover? 

"I'm sorry," he said, eyes narrowing. "Detective Kowalski isn't here at the moment. Can I take a message?" He'd decided that was the safest policy. 

"Sure," the caller replied. "Just tell him there's a Mountie down at County's ER who's asking for him. Thanks." And the doctor hung up, leaving Stan stunned. A Mountie? Surely he couldn't mean...? But how many other Mounties could there possibly be in Chicago asking for Detective Stan Kowalski? No, it had to be Fraser. God, Fraser was at the hospital! 

He virtually sprang from the bed, pulled on the same clothes he'd taken off the night before and sprinted out of the building up to his GTO. Gunning the engine, he was there within fifteen minutes. 

Stan was cursing himself already as he slammed his car door and ran flat out up to the ER's sliding doors. He hadn't seen, hadn't even called, his partner in the five days since he'd met Mulder and Scully, since he'd seen Ben and...Guilt flooded him as he made it to the busy front desk, he hadn't even thought about Fraser (except when he'd thought about that morning) since God knows when, either. He'd thought that was a good thing, after all those months of having nothing else on his mind, but now...well, now he wasn't so sure. 

"Can I help you?" he big guy at the desk asked as Stan stood there, panting but fairly controlled. He was leaning forward against the desk on one hand, running the other through his hair in some kind of repeated nervous action, and he nodded. 

"Yeah, maybe," Stan told him. "I'm looking for a friend of mine. Benton Fraser." The guy looked at him, blank. Stan sighed. "You know, the Mountie." The guy nodded with a small smile. 

"Oh, the Mountie." He didn't like the sound of that, that small voice and almost apologetic tone, or the smile. His eyebrows raised almost involuntarily.

"So, where is he?" he demanded, standing up straight. The guy shrugged and turned away. 

"Carol, have you seen Doctor Greene or Carter?" he asked a tall brunette in a nurse's uniform. She shrugged, picking up a couple of clipboards.

"Sorry, Jerry," she said. "No - I think Carter's with the Mountie in Trauma One." 

"Thanks," Jerry said. "I don't suppose you'd show Detective Kowalski through, would you?" Carol turned to Kowalski and nodded. "Sure," she said. "So, you're Kowalski. Come on through." She moved away and Stan followed her, down a hall away from the desk and through a set of double doors into what he could only guess was Trauma One. 

"Here you are," she told him. "Carter, Detective Kowalski." The guy opposite Stan by a phone on the wall turned and put up one hand, muttered a few more words then hung up as Carol vanished. 

"Doctor John Carter," the young doctor said, extending his hand. Stan shook it, quite aware of Carter's youth and clean-shavenness, as well as the sombre look he gave him. "So you're Kowalski. Well, Constable Fraser's been asking for you. I presume you know..." Stan heard nothing more. He'd already turned and seen the form lying bloody and motionless on the table, and the person next to it. Before he knew it, he was staring at the scene, slack-jawed, caught between relief and despair. The form on the bed wasn't Fraser - he was the one beside it - but Darcy. 

\---

Kowalski couldn't bear to be in the room any longer, seeing his partner there with the bloody girl beside him - he backed out through the swinging doors and Carter followed him into the corridor. 

"Is everything alright, Detective?" Carter asked, a look of genuine concern on the younger man's face. "Can I get you anything?" 

//No, everything's not all-fucking-right!// he thought, wanting to scream it but finding himself totally incapable; instead he just leaned back against the wall behind him, hanging his head. "No, Doctor," he managed to choke out. "Everything's fine but I don't want anything. What happened?" Carter moved closer to him to avoid people passing between them, Stan's eyes staying bolted to the floor. 

"There was apparently some kind of argument in Constable Fraser's apartment building which led to three shots being fired," Carter said, studying Kowalski's face as he said it. He didn't need a psych consult to know he'd lied to him - the detective wasn't alright. In fact, Carter could tell he was far from it. "Constable Fraser left his apartment to investigate and found Miss Yearwood had been shot - he brought her here." Stan nodded, eyes still on the floor, until it hit him and then his head snapped up so fast it almost hit the wall. 

"Miss Yearwood?" he questioned, his eyes narrowing. Carter nodded, surprised by his reaction. 

"Yes, Miss Yearwood," he confirmed. "The woman who was shot. The one that Constable Fraser's..." Ray cut in. 

"Yes, I know who you mean," he told him. "But that's not her name." Carter frowned, his smooth skin wrinkling across his forehead as if for the first time. He really was young. 

"I don't understand," he told Ray, jamming his hands into his white coat's pockets. "Constable Fraser said...She's not Annabelle Yearwood?" 

"Does she look like a Southern girl to you, Doctor?" Ray questioned, almost incredulous. Carter shook his head, not even looking at the detective anymore. "Good, because she's not. Her name's Darcy, Darcy Giger-Dahmer, not Annabelle Yearwood. And she's not even really American, let alone from the South." Now Carter nodded, wordlessly, stunned, as if false names were a whole new concept for him. "Do you have a phone I can use?"

"Huh?"

"A phone. Is there one?" Carter nodded, pointing. 

"There's a payphone down the hall," he said. If he heard the thanks Kowalski muttered then he didn't show any signs of it. He just stood there, leaning against the wall as Stan jogged away down the hall to phone Mulder and Scully. He was still there when he returned. 

"It's okay to talk to them, right?" he asked Carter, standing beside him with a cup of coffee from the machine that he thought the doctor could do with more than himself. Carter shrugged. 

"Well, I can't guarantee either of them will listen to you," he told Ray, finally meeting his eyes. "Miss Year - I mean Miss Giger-Dahmer, is unconscious waiting for a bed in Intensive Care and Constable Fraser - since he explained what happened it's been impossible to get a word out of him." Kowalski nodded. 

"But I can go in, right?" he questioned, more to himself than for Carter. It was almost like he was convincing himself that he could see them, that he should see them and that he would see them. Carter nodded his response and Kowalski walked away from him into the room. 

The journey from the double doors to his partner's side seemed to Ray to take forever, each moment drawn out to it's fullest and filled with pain before moving into the next. Fraser sat there, his head bent forward before the wounded girl, her pale hand in his, both figures unmoving. He cast his eyes briefly over Darcy, taking in the sight of the blood stains and the tubes and machines all around her, then snapped his attention quickly to the man by her side; he knew he couldn't've looked at her for much longer without crying and he knew that a hysterical partner was exactly what Fraser did not need right now. 

"Frase?" he said softly, drawing close enough so he could lay one hand across his partner's shoulder. He felt Ben tense beneath the red serge and under his touch and it took quite a time for him to even begin to relax. "Frase, are you okay?" He almost regretted the question as soon as he'd said it, knowing already what the answer would be. 

"I'm fine, Ray." Fraser's voice sounded in contradiction to his words. That shaking was not fine. That almost-whisper was not fine. The way Fraser's perfect fingers were twined in hers was not fine. Benton Fraser, he knew was far from fine. But even so, there was something he knew he had to do. 

"There's something I have to tell you, Frase," Kowalski said in that same soft voice as he pulled up a stool and perched himself atop it. "It's important." Fraser nodded slowly, his head barely moving and his eyes glued to the girl's face, to the bloodstain across her jaw and over her temple where two of the bullets had hit. If it hadn't been for him she would've died, but somehow that fact offered very little comfort.

"Go ahead, Ray," he murmured, barely audible. Ray sighed. 

"I don't know how you're going to take this," he said, took a sip of hot coffee that burned his mouth then coughed before taking another. The heat felt good. As long as he could feel it he knew he was still alive. "Perhaps we should go outside...?" 

"NO." The volume of Fraser's voice startled him in itself, and the detached decisiveness chilled him. That was the first time he'd heard the man by anything less than perfectly civil. Despite the fact he knew Fraser wasn't watching him, Stan nodded. 

"Sure, Frase, we'll stay," he said. "But I have to tell you this no matter what. I don't want them to just turn up and shock the hell out of you. You see, Frase, for the last few days I've been working with these two FBI agents, Mulder and Scully. Not exactly the friendliest people on Earth but I suppose..." 

"Ray, what's your point?" Fraser cut in. Ray stared at him. He wasn't just a little off now, he was being downright rude. That was something he hadn't ever imagined the Mountie capable of, let alone that he'd do it. 

"The point is, Fraser buddy, that these two FBI agents have been looking for this girl for the past week, the one lying in this bed here, full of bullets. It doesn't take a genius to tell that they're gonna want to talk to you." Fraser suddenly turned to him, frowning slightly, and when Ray looked at him he was astounded to find tears in his big blue eyes. The Mountie squeezed shut his eyes and one solitary tear spilled out over his snow white cheek; he was almost as white as Darcy, Ray noticed, and before he'd had chance to even think about it he'd reached out and wiped away that tear with his thumb. Fraser flinched and he pulled back his hand. 

"But why would they be looking for her?" Fraser asked at last, breaking their awkward silence. "She'd never do anything to hurt anyone." 

"I know," Stan said with a sigh. "But she's not who you think she is, Frase, believe me." 

"What do you mean, Ray?" he asked, that old innocent tone he recognised in Ben's voice, and suddenly he couldn't look him in the eye. His gaze found the cupboards and worktops and trays and trolleys and all the medical equipment peculiarly fascinating. He knew there was no way to say it but to come straight out with it. 

"It's not what she's done," he told him. "It's nothing to do with her, really, but her father. The agents haven't said it to me but I'd say her father's been getting death threats again." 

"How can that be when her father's dead?" Ben asked, frowning again, looking so fragile and vulnerable that Ray could barely believe it. The Mountie had always been so strong, seemed so strong...

"He's not dead, Frase," he said. 

"But she said..." Ben started, looking down, beginning to realise there was more to the situation than he knew. She said he's been dead for years..." His voice trailed to nothing. 

"He's not dead, Frase," Ray repeated softly. "He is, in fact, very much alive. He's the director of the FBI." 

"How can he be? He's Henrik Giger-Dahmer and she's Annabelle Yearwood..."

"Do you really believe that?" Ray asked. 

"Yes." Fraser paused, thinking. "No. Oh, I don't know! Ray...?" It was a plea, in his voice and in his eyes as they met Ray's. "My God, Ray, who is she?" 

"Darcy Giger-Dahmer," he said. "Henrik Giger'Dahmer's eighteen-year-old daughter." Fraser shuddered suddenly, deeply, squeezing his eyes shut, screwing up his face into a pained expression. He sucked in a short, sharp breath and held it, rocking back and forth just as shortly and sharply. Stan had no idea what to do, but it was killing him to see Ben like that, to see his best friend like that. So he stood up, put down the coffee on his stool, reached forward and pulled him into his arms.

To his surprise, Fraser didn't pull away. In fact, as he started to rock him slowly backwards and forwards, he felt his partner's strong arms around his waist, his head resting on his chest, eyes closed. It was a strange feeling, the Mountie's weight against him, but not in a bad way, just different. He could feel Ben's muscles slowly relax beneath his hands, the tension relieved. He sighed slowly, looking down - his chin brushed against Fraser's hair and he found himself wondering exactly where his Stetson was. 

"It's gonna be fine, Ben," Kowalski said, not really believing it himself but hoping Fraser would. "It's all gonna work itself out, you'll see..." He felt the smile through his T-shirt and hoped that meant agreement.

\---

The two be-trenchcoated agents walked in out of the rain that had started  
up an hour or so earlier and looked at each other. Mulder's usually immaculately-styled  
hair was plastered to his head with water and there were rivulets running  
from it down his neck and face, soaking the layers under the soaked trenchcoat.  
Scully's mascara had started to run, but thanks to a handy newspaper  
her hair was mostly dry - her coat, on the other hand, was not. Both  
shed their sodden outerwear and headed for the desk. 

 

"Agents Mulder and Scully for Detective Kowalski," Scully told the tall,  
overweight clerk. 

 

"Sure," he replied, almost leering at her. "He's expecting you. Jeannie?  
Could you take the agents Mulder and Scully down to Trauma One?" The  
woman standing behind him turned, nodded and smiled at the rainsoaked  
agents. 

 

"Just follow me, please," she said, and led them away down a hallway.

 

Mulder and Scully had got there as fast as they could after Kowalski's  
call, but it had still taken them half an hour - the traffic was murder  
and neither of them had any idea where County General was. Still, finally  
they'd found it, and when they got to Trauma One, they found the girl  
on the table with tubes and wires and monitors everywhere, and Kowalski  
standing off to the left, a seated and upset Mountie in his arms. Mulder  
shot his partner a questioning glance and she shrugged. 

 

"Detective Kowalski?" she said, breaking the silence. It wasn't an uncomfortable  
one any more, at least not for Fraser and Kowalski. 

 

"Yes, Agent Scully?" he replied, not moving and inch, not even looking  
at her. 

 

"What happened?"

 

"I'd suggest you pull up a stool," he said. "Fraser here's gonna explain,  
right Frase?" Ben nodded and sat back slowly out of Stan's warm embrace,  
glancing over Darcy before rubbing his eyes and turning to them. 

 

"Mulder, Scully, this is my partner, Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal  
Canadian Mounted Police. Ben, this is Special Agent Dana Scully and her  
partner, Special Agent Fox Mulder. Guys, I'm gonna leave you now and  
go get some more coffee - Fraser'll tell you what happened to Darcy and  
don't push him, please. Anyone want coffee while I'm gone?" Both agents  
nodded, he gave Ben a quick pat on the shoulder then vanished out into  
the corridor leaving the three of them (plus the unconscious Darcy) alone.

 

"So," Mulder said, sitting and turning to Fraser. "Let's start and the  
beginning." 

 

\---

 

 

Fraser told Mulder everything he knew about the shooting but when questioned  
further he would say nothing. Mulder asked if he'd met her before - he  
was silent. Mulder asked if he'd known who she was, why she was there,  
what she was doing in the building - he plain ignored him. He just turned  
to Darcy, took her hand in his and started to cry. 

 

Scully had left Mulder to it and gone after Kowalski, finding him at  
the coffee machine just like he'd said. She wasn't sure whether she'd  
really expected he'd lied or not, but she knew there were things he wasn't  
telling her, things important to the case. But then, there was no case  
now; she and Mulder had been pulled off the X-Files to find a missing  
girl and now they'd got her she was hoping they could get back to D.C.  
and she could begin begging for a transfer. 

 

Stan passed her a cup of steaming black coffee and she smiled gratefully  
\- she hadn't even known he'd known she was there but in her line of work  
you kind of get used to the unexpected. She muttered some thanks, told  
him she was going outside to use her cellphone then left, dropping back  
into Trauma One to give Mulder his coffee before stepping out to dial  
AD Skinner back in D.C. He picked up on the third ring and the conversation  
lasted a maximum of five minutes. He called her back fifteen minutes  
later with the bad news she'd been dreading. 

 

"You and Mulder are going to have to stay out there a little longer,"  
he told her, dashing all her hopes to pieces. "The director wants to  
know who shot his daughter and since you two are there...Well, I told  
him I thought you're capable of doing it and he agreed. He is, however,  
sending over another agent just in case..." She'd pretty much tuned out  
at that point, knowing it would all just be Skinner babbling about how  
important this case was, how if she did a good job she might impress  
the director and maybe even get a promotion, but she was beyond caring.  
Her career didn't seem like her career anymore; it was like she wasn't  
even herself, like there was a whole big part of her missing...She sighed  
as she bid Skinner adieu and walked back into the hospital to tell Mulder.  
Needless to say, he wasn't going to be pleased. 

 

"Oh God, I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, standing back with wide eyes fixed  
on the huge wet brown coffee stain across the otherwise bright white  
coat. She whipped out a tissue and began to dab at it frantically, babbling  
all the phrases of apology that sprang into her head. The doctor's hand  
on hers stopped her and she looked up as he smiled and took off the coat.

 

"Don't worry about it," he told her. "I've got a spare." She returned  
the smile although somewhat sheepishly. 

 

"I really am sorry," she said. "I should've been watching where I was  
walking..." 

 

"Really, it's okay," he said. She was smiling in earnest now and looking  
straight into his eyes, those big liquid brown pools, deep, soulful.  
She couldn't take her eyes off him. "I'm John Carter, by the way." He  
held out one big, strong, yet magically soft hand and she shook it gladly.

 

"Dana Scully," she replied, then took a deep breath. "Look, I hope you  
don't think this is too forward of me, Doctor Carter, but could I take  
you out for a coffee sometime? I'd try not to spill any on you." She  
was joking but jabbing her fingernails into her palms inside her wet  
coat's pockets with the tension of it all, consumed by nerves. 

 

"That's not too forward at all," he told her. "You know, if you hadn't  
asked me I would've asked you. I get off work around eight tonight -  
how about I meet you then? And call me John." 

 

"That sounds great, John," she said. "I'll be here. And call me Dana."

 

"Then I guess I'll see you at eight." She nodded and they went their  
separate ways, both feeling completely elated. She was still smiling  
when she got to Trauma One and as Mulder explained what was going on.  
In fact, she was *still* smiling as she told him they'd be staying in  
Chicago a little longer than planned. Suddenly that didn't seem like  
such a bad thing after all. 

 

\---

 

 

Fraser lay in bed that night exhausted but unable to sleep - too much  
had happened for it to let him, too much was still clattering around  
in his mind unresolved and he had no idea what to do about it. Annabelle  
had been shot, she wasn't really called Annabelle but Darcy, she was  
only eighteen, she'd nearly died in his arms, that FBI agent had asked  
him about her over and over until his head throbbed and still all he  
could feel was the warmth he'd felt in Ray's embrace. 

 

"I know, Dief, you're hungry," he said into the room in reply to the  
wolf's whining. "But not right now. I'll feed you in the morning, I promise."  
The whining ceased and the wolf just lay down by Fraser's bed. If Ben  
had had the energy to look down he would have seen the concern in Diefenbaker's  
eyes. Sometimes he was more human than either of them liked to admit.

 

Somehow, after sitting with Darcy for most of the day as she was moved  
from the ER to Intensive Care to a private room paid for by Director  
Giger-Dahmer himself, Kowalski had managed to pry his partner away and  
get him home where he'd practically had to force him to go to bed. Fraser  
knew he'd just upset Stan more - and he could tell despite multiple protestations  
to the contrary that he was upset - if he didn't do as he asked. So he  
was in bed but restless and Stan was on his couch, also restless, almost  
sure that the cellphone borrowed from Mulder would ring any second. When  
he'd told the agents he'd be staying with the phoneless Fraser they'd  
insisted he take one of their phones but Scully had insisted she needed  
hers so Mulder's it was. It was about 2:30am when the two of them finally  
succumbed to sleep. 

 

Scully's coffee date with Carter turned into a drinks date then finally  
into a dinner date. She found they got on well, even if he was younger  
than her, but they had so much in common and she hadn't failed to notice  
that warm, tingly feeling she got every time he smiled at her. He had  
an incredible smile. He was incredible! Definitely above the 'he's fairly  
cute' level. More like 'my God he's gorgeous!' Between his slightly tousled  
light brown hair, deep brown eyes, magnificent smile and graceful form,  
Scully was captivated, and it was the exact same thing for Carter. He'd  
never in his life known a woman like Dana Scully - he didn't even care  
when she told him she was an FBI agent. As far as he was concerned she  
could've been an international superspy and he would still have been  
begging for a second date. But as it turned out, he didn't need to beg;  
by the end of the evening they had that second date planned, dinner at  
a fancy Italian restaurant a few days later. They parted ways at midnight,  
reluctant but content. 

 

Mulder was still awake by the time Scully got back to the hotel - he  
felt a little uneasy but he couldn't tell whether it was because she'd  
gone out without him, because he had no idea where she'd been or because  
he knew she'd been there with a man. He picked up the phone and dialled  
his girlfriend, Kelly, got her out of bed on her night off and was telling  
her exactly how much he loved her when Scully walked in. She just glared  
at him, mumbled something about the hotel phone bill and made a swift  
exit into the bathroom. Mulder wasn't sure whether that was a victory  
or not. He said goodnight to Kelly and put the phone down while she was  
still talking, then retired to his bed to ask himself repeatedly why  
that had been necessary. He was asleep half an hour later when Scully  
came back in. She fell asleep fifteen minutes after that, angry at him  
but pleased about Carter. 

 

Darcy's condition worsened overnight and by midnight she was in a coma.  
The defenceless eighteen-year-old was put under a 24-hour police/FBI  
guard in her private room, and all night Doctor Greene, one of the team  
who'd seen her when she was brought in, kept popping in to see how she  
was doing. Technically she was Carter's patient but somehow he felt an  
affinity for this girl as she lay there, not even looking a girl but  
a woman, with no one to be with her then except a troupe of armed guards  
and the odd nurse. She was alone, she was wounded, and it was fully possible  
that she may never recover. All he could do now was keep her safe, keep  
her looked after and hope to God that they caught the bastard who did  
this to her. 

 

The next morning, the investigation began.

 

\---

 

 

Part 2

 

When the alarm sounded at 7am, Ray had already been awake for an hour  
or more just thinking about Darcy and trying not to think about Darcy  
and Fraser. He kicked off the blanket, shivered quite violently, pulled  
on a sweater and jogged through into Fraser's room, the scene of the  
crime so to speak. It was quite difficult to be there, all things considered.

 

"C'mon, Frase," he muttered, giving the Mountie a little shake through  
the duvet. He mumbled something wholly unintelligible into the pillow  
and pulled the duvet up over his head. Stan sighed. On the couple of  
rare occasions he'd actually had to wake the Mountie it had been so much  
easier - he'd just called his name and he'd woken right up. This was  
a whole different matter. 

 

Several more equally unsuccessful attempts at shaking Fraser to life  
later, Stan had had enough. He just grabbed the bottom of the duvet and  
yanked the whole thing right off the bed. The look on Fraser's face told  
him his efforts had not been appreciated. 

 

"I'm not going into work today," Ben said, not even looking up from his  
position curled up on the bed in just a pair of grey boxers. Ray's eyebrows  
raised on impulse. Ben wasn't going to work? Did not computer...He was  
so straight-laced and precise that Stan doubted he'd ever missed a day  
of work in his entire life. Except when he was injured, of course. 

 

"Damn you, Fraser, you're getting up and going to work if I have to drag  
you," he said in a loud but otherwise completely calm voice. Ben's eyes  
opened and he sat up cross-legged on the bed. Slowly, he shook his head.

 

"You just don't understand, Ray," he said with equal composure. "I can't  
go to work. I don't deserve to wear the uniform. I'd feel like...like  
I was masquerading as an officer. I can't do it." Ray shrugged. 

 

"Sure," he said. "But do me a favour. If you're not going to go, give  
Thatcher a call and let her know." Fraser froze. Inside, Ray smiled.  
He pulled out Mulder's cellphone from his jeans pocket and tossed it  
onto the bed. "Go ahead. I'm sure Agent Mulder won't mind." Ben looked  
down at the small black plastic object on his bed like he'd never seen  
a cellphone before in his life, then up at Ray with the same look. He  
reached out and picked it up, pulled it to him and started t dial unsurely.  
Finally, he lifted the phone to his ear. 

 

"Hello? Inspector Thatcher?" he questioned. "Yes, good morning to you  
too. Yes, I'm fine - but no, I won't be coming to today. No, I can't  
explain it, Sir, I just can't. Yes, I understand. No! You can't mean...  
oh. Yes, Sir, of course. Thank-you. Goodbye." He finished the call and  
put the phone back down on the bed. 

 

"Well?" Ray questioned, crossing his arms with an amused smile. 

 

"It seemed I'll be working with you for the duration of the case, Ray,"  
Fraser replied. He couldn't look up. He wasn't sure he could even get  
up. Or walk. Or put on his uniform. But on the inspector's orders, he  
had to. He was an RCMP officer, no matter how undeserving, and he had  
to do his duty. He swung his legs to the floor, stood, teetered and actually  
made it to the doorway before his knees gave out and he fell into Kowalski's  
waiting arms. 

 

"Thank-you kindly, Ray," he muttered with none of his usual vigour. 

 

"Think nothing of it," Ray replied with a crooked smile that looked slightly  
out of place on his face. He returned Fraser to a standing position and  
the Mountie detected an odd look in his partner's brilliant blue eyes;  
he left Ray's warm and oddly inviting arms and actually made it to the  
bathroom all by himself, leaving Kowalski to stare after him. He'd be  
seeing Ben's body in his mind all day, even if he didn't know it. 

 

\---

 

 

Mulder and Scully were already waiting at the hospital when Ray and Fraser  
got there, sitting at Darcy's bedside, staring at her blankly. Neither  
agent could recall ever seeing such a beautiful girl in their lives before,  
although to call her a girl was hardly fair. She was a good six feet  
tall with waist-length black hair and a magnificent figure, her pianist  
mother's fine hands and a bone structure any model would die for. She  
was strikingly good looking, almost disturbingly so, and if they hadn't  
known she was eighteen, Mulder would've guessed she was somewhere in  
her early twenties. She was a magnificent creature, but at the moment  
also magnificently ill. 

 

Fraser went totally numb the very second he saw her - he could tell there  
was something even worse now than just her original injuries and he would  
vaguely recall someone saying something about a coma when he finally  
tuned back into reality about three hours later. He sat down wordlessly  
by her side, took her hand in his and remained just like that for the  
duration, even through the arrival of the third agent. 

The man walked in after a brief knock just fifteen minutes after Ray and Fraser, let the guards on the inside of the room go then turned to its occupants as its occupants (save Darcy and Fraser who were away somewhere else entirely) turned to him. Ray stopped himself when he realise he was giving the man a glare usually reserved for the lowest scum-of-the-earth criminals he came across and Scully had to stop herself from staring. The guy could be a goddamn posterboy for the FBI! Perfectly slicked back hair, dark hair and eyes, immaculate suit, shoes and beige overcoat. He gave them a nod and walked over. 

"Special Agent Dale Cooper," he said with a smile. "And you must be..." he pointed to each in turn, "Agents Mulder and Scully." He held out his hand and both agents shook it, first Mulder, then his partner. They both nodded. He turned to Ray. "And...Detective Kowalski?" Ray nodded, jamming his hands awkwardly into his jeans pockets to avoid having to shake the man's hand, a fact that did not escape either Cooper or Scully for an instant. 

"Yeah," he said, looking him over quickly. "But it'd be easier if you'd call me Vecchio. I don't want to...well, it's complicated." Cooped nodded.

"Yes, I know," he said. "I read your file. So, I know who you three are, and I presume the girl in the bed is Darcy. But who is he?" He motioned over in Fraser's direction. Stan could see Mulder's mouth open to speak but he butted in quickly. 

"Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP," he said. "My partner." 

"And what's he doing here?" Cooped questioned, out of genuine confusion and not in any sort of rude tone he might have used but rarely did. Again, Mulder tried to speak, and this time Stan let him. 

"Yes, Detective, why is he here?" he asked, shooting Fraser a weird glance across the room. "Maybe you can tell us since he won't." He seemed half surprised that Ray had let him speak and a slow smile spread across his face as he noticed. 

"Well, he's here today because he's been assigned to the case by the RCMP and the Chicago PD," Stan said. "He's my partner, he was around when Darcy was shot - what can I say? The guy just got lucky." Mulder gave him a small sarcastic smile but Stan ignored him. It seemed the tall, bruised (still!) agent hated cops just as much as Kowalski hated the FBI. Stan couldn't help but wonder if their reasons were at all alike.

"Okay then," Cooper said, whipping out a small hand-held tape recorder and switching it to record. "Diane, I'm here in Cook County General, Chicago, and having just met agents Mulder and Scully and Detective Ko...Vecchio and his partner Constable Fraser of the RCMP, I think we're about ready to get this investigation underway." He clicked off the recorder.

"So," he said, turning back to the three bemused people in the room, each wondering what the hell had just happened. "Let's go to work." 

\---

As it turned out, Cooper was already quite well-informed about the case but even so, they spent the rest of the day at first in the hospital and then in Mulder and Scully's hotel room bringing the third, more experienced and ultimately older agent completely up to speed. They explained all the reactions they'd had from Darcy's old friends, everywhere they'd been, each place they'd checked to try to find her, exactly what her injuries were and what had happened according to Fraser on the day that she was shot. Cooper made it abundantly clear that he wanted to know everything Fraser knew, near enough stating that the ordinarily clean-cut Mountie knew more than he was telling despite the fact he'd never even so much as talked to him. Ray wanted to stick up for his friend but since he knew Cooper was right, he kept quiet. Their day finally ended at 8:30pm when Copper returned to his own hotel room and Kowalski swung by the hospital to pick up Fraser before retiring to the Mountie's apartment.

Fraser hadn't wanted to leave the hospital when Ray came for him - it took almost half an hour of out and out pleading for him to even let go of her hand, let alone move from her bedside. Ray just couldn't understand his partner's attachment to the girl, after all he'd only known her for a week at the most. It was strange. He'd never seen Fraser show even half the emotion he was showing now, and he sense that there was more to it than just the fact Fraser had been the one to find her when she'd been shot. He barely slept that night, thinking about it. Ben didn't sleep at all. 

Darcy's things were still in his apartment, stuffed under the bed where Ray couldn't see them; but as that night wore on, Ben became more and more aware of their presence until he left the bed and pulled it all out. He sat down on his bare floorboards and sorted through it all, folding the clothes and letting his fingers linger on the soft fabrics that he felt were almost as soft as her skin. There were two bags - a large sports bag that held her clothing and a smaller Nike rucksack that he found contained a few books, a couple of magazines, some paper and pens, her wallet and a walkman. Suddenly curious, he opened the walkman and pulled out the tape - in the girl's own fair hand was written 'Darcy's favourite freaky music' on the sticker on the side. He finally had confirmation beyond the spoken that she really wasn't who she'd claimed to be. 

Half an hour later he'd put most everything back under the bed and was back on top of it, curled up under the duvet with the tape playing in his ears. He'd rewound it to the very start and started it at a low volume as a soft song began, something slow and guitar-based. In fact, he found that most of the first side was made up of similar songs - all guitars and mournful vocals. He only recognised one which was an old Bruce Springsteen song Ray had made him listen to once. There were a couple of French songs there, too, that seemed fairly soulful and weepy, and lastly a classical piece, all chords, in a minor key. Heavy and slow, layers upon layers of notes, strangely not out of place amongst the rock songs at all. The side ended. He pulled out the tape, turned it over and pressed play all in the dark. 

The music hit him like a slap across the face. It was heavy metal, not something Fraser had ever really listened to before, but before long he was upping the volume and getting lost in it all. The first two songs were the same artist, he could tell, and just pure anger; he knew he'd heard better but also that he'd heard worse. And then came the biggest shock of all. Eight whole songs voiced by the same man, a stunning contrast between each but the sentiment remained the same - this man sang and screamed and yelled and whispered loss, anger, lust, fantasy, death, denial. This music was the bleakest Ben had ever heard. Tainted music, stained, almost empty. He wanted to turn it off but he was frozen. He was lost in the words. 

Benton Fraser had never ever in his life cried at a piece of music before that night; when he heard this song, the last on the tape, all reserve he had left in him just broke away. He knew it so well, only he had never admitted it to himself. He'd never dared. 

I still recall the taste of your tears//Echoing your voice just like the ringing in my ears//My favorite dreams of you still wash ashore//Scraping through my head 'till I don't want to sleep anymore//Come on tell me//Make this all go away//You make this all go away//I'm down to just one thing and I'm starting to scare myself//Make this all go away//You make this all go away//I just want something//I just want something I can never have//You always were the one to show me how//Back then I couldn't do the things I can do now//This thing is slowly taking me apart//Grey would be the color, if I had a heart//Come on tell me//Make this all go away//You make this all go away//I'm down to just one thing and I'm starting to scare myself//Make this all go away//You make this all go away//I just want something//I just want something I can never have//In this place it seems like such a shame//Though it all looks different now I know it's still the same//Everywhere I look you're all I see//Just a fading fucking reminder of who I used to be//Come on tell me//Make it all go away//You make it all go away//I'm down to just one thing and I'm starting to scare myself//Make it all go away//You make it all go away//I just want something//I just want something I can never have//I just want something I can never have. 

\---

Mulder flew to Massachusetts early the following morning, leaving Scully caught between emotions and alone in the room with Cooper until Kowalski finally got there (late) at 9am. He took one look at Scully and decided against the lame excuse he'd been going to give, just shrugged and seated himself in the chair in the corner which was by then becoming like his second home. 

"Where's Mulder?" he asked after fifteen whole minutes of complete silence.

"Flew to Massachusetts thins morning," Scully replied, her eyes remaining fixed to the papers in front of her. Ray sighed. Another fifteen minutes' silence. 

"What's he doing in Massachusetts?" 

"Visiting Darcy's room at MIT."

"He should be calling in sometime this afternoon," Cooper added, although not exactly much cheerier. He, too, was leafing through some papers, and he returned to it quickly after glancing over at Kowalski. "Detective, why don't you go check on Miss Giger-Dahmer?" Ray nodded semi-enthusiastically and rose stiffly, flashing Cooper a grateful smile. 

"I might just do that," he said. "Give me a call at the hospital when you've talked to Mulder." 

"Sure," Cooper said and thirty seconds later no signs that Kowalski had ever entered the room remained. 

After a quick stop by the coffee machine, Ray went straight up to Darcy's room where he'd left his partner earlier on that morning. And there he was - a Mountie in full uniform sitting by the comatose girl's bed with her hand in his. Fraser was unmoving even when Ray came in, not that that was surprising in the least; for about the past month or two the two of them and Fraser especially had gradually become less and less responsive to each other, and both were clueless as to why. All they knew was their every meeting felt awkward somehow, their relationship fake, conversation laboured. They'd even started to doubt their friendship and that fact had both of them down; strangely enough, their least awkward moment in what seemed like an age had been that morning in the ER, when Ben had called for Ray and Ray had held him. But neither of them could bring themselves to think of that now, now that Darcy was as good as dead... 

The morning wore on slowly, the only noise in the room the humming and clicking of Darcy's monitors with the occasional entrance of a nurse just to check - Stan wasn't sure whether they were checking she was alive or dead and as he thought about it all he had to choke back the tears. She wasn't really living but she wasn't really dead - she was just there and that unresponsiveness scared him. In a way it was like the girl in that bed wasn't really Darcy, but she was. At least last time she'd still been herself... 

Around 2pm in the dreary, rainy afternoon, a doctor came in and woke Ray from a light yet troubled doze. All at once alert, his eyes followed the man around the room, noting that this wasn't a man he'd seen before, and definitely not Doctor Carter who he guessed was still supposed to be looking after Darcy. He was tall and almost bald with an almost beard-like stubble and glasses - Stan frowned as he turned to him. 

"Detective Kowalski?" Stan nodded cautiously. The man almost-smiled and held out his hand. "Doctor Mark Greene. I was one of the doctors who treated Darcy when she came in." 

"I was wondering who you were," Stan admitted, his tone and his look still guarded. 

"I know - that's why I introduced myself," the doctor told him. "You seemed a little nervous. Then again, I guess I'd be nervous in your shoes. Is she really the daughter of the director of the FBI?" Again, Stan nodded, relaxing a little. 

"She sure is," he said with a sigh. "For all the good it's done her." Doctor Greene frowned. 

"How do you mean?"

"I mean some psycho who hates her father probably did this," he told him. "A guy tried to kidnap and kill her last year - that's what the scar on her left shoulder is. There was a fight, a guy stabbed her, tried to kill her. Maybe this time they've done it." 

"It almost sounds like you were there," Greene said. 

"I was." 

The silence which ensued was mercifully brief as Doctor Green absorbed what the cop had told him. He'd been around for two attempts on this one girl's life, so there was really no wonder he looked so worn out and anxious. But the other guy, the Mountie - what was his excuse? 

"Was your partner there too?" he asked, eventually. Stan's head snapped up quickly. 

"Huh? Oh, no. As far as I know, he only met her a week ago." Greene frowned.

"But he seems so...uh..." How could he put it tactfully? "He seems so *attached* to her." Kowalski smiled a small wry smile, glancing over at Fraser. 

"I know, Doctor," he said. "Trust me, I know." 

"Then do you think there's anything we could do to help?"

"Like what?"

"Well, I could send him a Psych consult, if you think it might do him any good." Ray smiled. 

"Shouldn't you be the one to tell me?" Greene returned the smile and nodded. 

"I guess so. I'll send up Lucy Knight - she's with us in the ER but she just came off her second Psych rotation. She should be able to help."

"You really believe that, Doc?" Greene shrugged. 

"It's worth a try." And with that, he as gone. 

\---

There was a knock at the door just under fifteen minutes later and after a call of 'come in' from Stan, in walked a young blonde med-student that he could only assume was Lucy Knight. 

"Hi," she said with a smile and glanced down at the clipboard she held in her hands then back up at Stan. "Detective Kowalski?" He nodded. "Lucy Knight. Mark Greene from the ER sent me up. If I could just ask you a few background questions...?" 

"Go ahead." 

"Your partner's name?"

"Ben Fraser. Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP."

**"RCMP?"**

"Royal Canadian Mounted Police. He's a Mountie." 

"Ah - I guess that explains the uniform. How long's he been like this?"

"Since after he brought her in, pretty much; he'll tell us as much as he thinks we need to know but that's all." 

"And how does he know Miss Giger-Dahmer?"

"I have absolutely no idea, but he can't've known her much over a week." Lucy put down her pen and smiled again. 

"Thank-you, Detective," she said. "Now, I'll give it a try but I don't promise anything." Stan shrugged and she walked over to Ben as he sat beside Darcy, totally motionless. 

"Hi, Ben," she said. "Is it okay if I call you Ben? I'm Lucy Knight - call me Lucy - and, well, I'm here to talk to you, Ben. Do you want to talk to me?" Silence. "Would you like to talk to me, Ben? Wanna tell me about Darcy?" Silence. "How are you feeling, Ben? Okay? Angry? Sad? You can tell me." 

"I'm afraid the patronising tone is not going to help you, Miss Knight," Ben said suddenly, making both Lucy and Ray jump. 

"Call me Lucy," she replied. 

"And no, Miss Knight, I don't want to talk about Darcy." His gaze didn't move one inch; nothing moved which wasn't necessary for speech. 

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Is there anything you'd like to talk about at all?"

"No."

"Do you want anything?"

"Yes." Pause. "I want you to leave me alone." Lucy smiled. 

"Sure, Ben," she said. "I'll go and come back in a little while, okay?" Silence. She rose and was about to leave when he turned and caught her wrist, stopping her. It was the first time he'd moved in hours. 

"Miss Knight?" His usual politeness appeared to have returned. Ray was relieved. 

"Yes?"

"Are you a doctor?"

"Yes."

"Then could you tell me something?"

"I'll try, sure. What is it?"

"These marks," he said, holding up Darcy's wrist and turning it over then back again. "What do you think caused them?" Lucy frowned and stooped to get a closer look. Ray stood and walked over, pulling on his glasses so he could see, too. 

"I don't know, to be honest," she told him. "But I could get Doctor Carter or Doctor Greene to take a look." 

"Please do." She turned and began to leave. 

"And Miss Knight?"

"Yes?"

"I noticed more marks while we were...I noticed marks and bruises over her ribs and her ankles." She nodded as Ray stopping himself from grimacing.

"I'll go get Doctor Greene," she said, vanishing from the room; Fraser returned to his previous position and Ray frowned as he looked at Darcy's wrist. There were marks alright - he was no doctor but they didn't all look exactly fresh, either. They circled both wrists, some almost raw-looking, some faded to bruises, some just raised marks almost like scar tissue. It confused him just as much as it concerned him, but he had no idea what to do. 

Doctor Greene came and went, leaving promises of various tests which he'd have arranged and he had no real ideas on what had caused the marks, either. Still, Ray didn't get to hear most of Greene and Knight's conference as a couple of minutes after their arrival, he was called away to the telephone and a call from Agent Scully. Mulder had checked in and even though there wasn't exactly much to report, she kept him talking almost half an hour before she hung up and went back to whatever it was she was doing with Agent Cooper, allowing him to return to Fraser, Darcy, Lucy and Greene. He caught the tail end of their conversation then was asked to take Fraser home. Obviously he didn't want to leave but they had tests to perform and Lucy noted that Kowalski somehow managed to persuade the stubborn Mountie to leave - a task she doubted she herself would have been capable of. 

\---

Morning came all too soon. Scully had barely slept a wink all night just going over it all in her head, never actually getting anywhere at all except into confusion. They had no leads. She just hoped Mulder could come up with something over in Massachusetts that'd put them onto something. And speaking of Mulder - she missed the late night tte--tte, even if they did usually turn into arguments. The room felt empty and she was chilled to think he was in a whole other state working without her. Still, she'd just have to get used to that if she was going to apply for that transfer and she knew it - suddenly it all came clear. She may never see Mulder again and she couldn't be sure that was something she was ready for...yet. 

The alarm went off at seven and she realised she'd already been awake for almost two hours. A small smile on her face with the realisation even if she didn't quite understand why, she proceeded into the bathroom; Mulder's razor was lying on the counter beside the sink, an old sweater of him hanging from the towel rack. When she returned to the bedroom she wasn't smiling anymore. 

Chicago's streets were busy that morning, as indeed was the case day in and day out. Kowalski scarcely noticed anymore but he began to think about it as he, Scully, Fraser and Cooper made their way across town at was essentially rush hour and Scully made a comment about how busy cities always are at that time, and at most every other time of the day. Cooper agreed and proceeded to tell them all about Twin Peaks, population 51, 201, the site of his last case; he made it sounds idyllic, like the most exquisitely perfect place on Earth, in a stark contrast to the vast wasteland that was Chicago. Ray was tempted to agree with them both but stopped himself short and somehow wound up thinking about Fraser and the Northwest Territories. All that unblemished land, untouched by human hands, a perfect place from which had come this perfect man...because he was perfect. Beautiful, strong, intelligent, creative, but so, so naive! 

"Benny, tell them about where you come from," he said before he'd known he'd said it, but was grateful he hadn't had time to think because contrary to his recent actions, Ben actually replied. 

"If you say so, Ray," he murmured, then paused; when he began again the tone was wistful and so low that each other in the car had to be completely silent and listen extremely hard just to make it out. "I was born in Tuktoyaktuk; that's in the Northwest Territories although I don't expect you to know that. It's as far north as you can go and still be in Canada. My grandparents raised me there, in the great frozen north, and I miss it, you know. I miss the cold. I miss the snow there that's so white it can dazzle you if you look for too long. I miss the trees, the great vast forests, the rivers - I miss the open spaces that last as far as the eye can see and I miss knowing there's no one but me for ten square miles. It's all so pure and unpolluted. If my father had not been murdered, I don't think I would ever have left." He sighed, breathed back in slowly, and added, almost to himself; "Now I don't know if I can ever go back." His eyes met Ray's for an instant before he returned to catatonia and the car plunged into silence. 

Ray's GTO pulled up in the parking lot outside County General at near enough 8:30am on the dot but Kowalski didn't much feel like congratulating himself on his new found punctuality. There was a terrible heavy feeling in his head and chest, and as they entered the building he felt almost queasy. He put it down to a combination of not having eaten that morning, another semi-sleepless night on the sofa in Fraser's freezing apartment and the nightmare he'd had of not only Darcy dying but Fraser, too. But somewhere inside him he knew that feeling meant more than all that. He just wasn't willing to admit to his intuition. 

Doctors Greene, Carter and Knight were all waiting by Darcy's bedside as the troupe of visitors went past the troupe of guards and into the room. Kowalski noted with dull amusement the smiles that were exchanged quickly between Scully and Carter, but there were too many other things on his mind for him really to pay it attention. Doctor Green turned to the arrivals, specifically to Kowalski, and started to speak; Ray guessed it was probably because he had no idea who the others were except Fraser and rather than find out, he'd decided he needed to get whatever it was off his chest and so he told him. Rather a complicated deduction for the few seconds it took but correct nevertheless. 

"Detective, I told you yesterday that we'd be running some tests yesterday afternoon and perhaps during the night," Greene said. 

"Yeah, you did," Kowalski confirmed. "Go on." Greene nodded, the faces of all three doctors now as solemn as humanly possible. 

"Well, we got the results back from the lab this morning." He paused, swallowing, then taking a deep breath. "And it seems Miss Giger-Dahmer had more done to her than just the gunshots." Kowalski glanced over at the others briefly who were all more or less thanking their lucky stars that the doctor hadn't chosen them to speak to, to take the news. Scully was frowning slightly as if perplexed by the whole issue and trying to figure out what else had been done to the girl just by looking at her. Cooper had maintained his all-purpose cool exterior, unsurprisingly. Fraser had frozen. 

"What do you mean she had more done to her?" Kowalski questioned cautiously. "What did you find out?" Doctor Greene took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes then replaced them, frowning slightly not in confusion or concentration but the difficulty of the task at hand. 

"She was raped, Detective," he said. He paused, deathly silence filling the room. "And not only that, but the lab could distinguish four distinct sperm types. There were four men." Kowalski felt all the blood draining slowly from his face, as had happened already to the three doctors and was also happening to the two agents and Fraser. Fraser, in fact, was now looking so bad that none of them would have been surprised to see him pass out right then and there. Still, somehow, he managed to remain on his feet, if a little unsteady. 

"Darcy was raped?" Stan squeaked, barely able to believe it. Greene and Carter both nodded simultaneously. "Uh, okay. Anything else the tests showed up of importance?" He'd suddenly switched back into police mode - he knew it was now the only way he'd be able to get through it without breaking down. 

"Carter?" Greene stepped aside to let the younger man take the floor, which he did awkwardly. 

"Well, I'm not sure how important it is to your case, Detective," he said. "But she's had just about every bone in her body broken at some point, except her legs and with the exception her left arm we're pretty sure it all happened within the last twelve to eighteen months. And before you ask - we got her medical records through this morning." Ray nodded.

"Thanks, Doc," he said. "You've helped a lot. If you find anything else then give us a call - you've got Agent Scully's cellphone number." And one by one they all filed out, even Fraser as Ray took him firmly by the shoulders and led him out. But then, just when they thought he'd go quietly, the unsteady six-foot Mountie turned back to the doctors.

"What do you think caused the marks on her wrists and ankles?" he asked, looking between the three of them. Lucy shrugged and Greene just gave him a pretty blank look but both Ray and Scully didn't fail to notice the strange look in Carter's eyes before he, too, shrugged. 

"To be honest, all we can say is some kind of tie," Greene said. "We'll let you know if we come up with any more ideas." And then they left - Greene, Carter and Knight for the ER, Kowalski, Fraser, Cooper and Scully for the Chicago PD. It seemed the plot had thickened. 

\---

"Ray, message for you from someone called Darcy," Fran called as the four of them walked in and each of them froze instantly. Francesca's eyebrows raised involuntarily. "Did I say something wrong?" 

"No, Frannie," he told her, walking over as she eyed Fraser with all her usual vigour. "But did'ya say Darcy?" She nodded, still not looking at him. "When did the message come through?" She shrugged, still not looking at him. "Fran, it's important. Look at the note." She glanced down briefly then back up at Fraser. 

"Last Saturday," she said. "Geez, that's a while ago - sorry Ray, but I wasn't in on Saturday, it was that temp. Anyways, a girl called Darcy phoned, didn't leave her surname 'cos she said you'd know who she was, and said to tell you she really needed to talk to you and was staying at the Sunnydale Hotel over on...hey, Ray? You with me?" Snapping out of his reverie, he nodded, realising his pretend-sister had actually dropped her gaze of Fraser. 

"Sure," he said. "Thanks. Let me have that note, okay?" she passed it over. 

"You okay, Ray?" He nodded, already walking away, not in hand, dazed.

"Great, Fran," he muttered. "Fan-fucking-tastic." 

The agents and Fraser followed him over to his desk, Cooper glancing furtively over Ray's shoulder to get a look at the note but failing. Ray wasn't reading it - he was holding it to his chest until he reached his desk, then hooked on his glasses and smoothed it out on the wood.

"What does it say?" Scully burst, unable to contain herself, hoping this note might signal what would be just about the first clue of the case. Ray glanced up at her for a second then continued to read, deflating her excitement completely. He read it through twice, then a third time, then rested his forehead down against the palm of his hand as he passed over the note to Scully. She almost snatched it away, barely able to keep control for the second time since they'd entered the building. Cooper managed to avoid giving her the strange look he knew was creeping onto his face and frowned instead. 

"So, what *does* is say?" he asked, with none of her overboard enthusiasm. Scully cleared her throat. 

"'Ray, it's Darcy'," she read. "'You don't need my surname - you know who I am. And I need help, Ray. There're guys following me. I'm staying at the Sunnydale Hotel. Help me, Ray. You're the only one who can'." Scully turned to the motionless Ray, her eyebrows knitted. "Detective Vecchio, just how well do you know this girl?" He didn't like her tone; it was all suspicious and accusing and didn't suit her at all. He almost cursed himself for his stupidity in showing her the note then realised it really didn't matter - he'd known all along that Scully would find out, and even now this had happened he had no intention of telling her the truth. Well, not the *whole* truth, anyhow. 

"She trusts me," he said, not looking up, eyes rooted to the desk. "I saved her lift once." Scully wasn't fully satisfied with his answer, but for the moment she was appeased. There were other more pressing matters than the exact nature of Stan Ray Kowalski's 'relationship' with Darcy. Like what else the note had told them...

"So she knew there were men following her," she said. "She must have found out that her father had been receiving death threats and fled the campus. But why? Surely she knew that her father would send agents to collect her." 

"Maybe that was the problem," Stan said, still staring at his desk, his hands now in his hair. 

"And what do you mean by that, Detective?" she questioned, almost insulted. She could tell what he was insinuating and didn't like it one bit. 

"She hates Feds, Agent Scully," he told her. "Sorry to say it, but there it is. The last time something like this happened, a bunch of your guys almost got her killed." 

//And you saved her// Cooper thought. So now he got Kowalski. 

"Anyway, the main thing is that she knew there were guys after her and instead of going home she came right into the centre of the city," Scully said, shaking off the professional insult. "So, why did she do that? To ask you for help?" Stan shook his head slowly. 

"No way. If she's wanted my help that badly she could've stopped by the station or called me some more. There's more to it than that." 

"But what if there was something preventing her from contacting you, Detective?" Cooper asked, startling both Stan and Scully. He'd been so quiet that they could almost have believed they were alone. 

"Like what?" Stan asked, his head snapping up in surprise. 

"She may have believed that contacting you would put you in danger, also."

"From some psycho who wants to cap her father?"

"Perhaps." 

"Perhaps my ass."

"Unlikely as it may seem, Detective, it's a possibility." 

"Unlikely like me getting elected president or Saddam fucking Hussein finding world peace. You bet it's unlikely." 

"Then perhaps there is more to this than we might imagine." 

"Again, like what?"

"I don't know, Detective. But trust me, I'll find out." 

\---

"So, what did the Dean have to say?"

"Darcy's a model student and he's sad to hear about what happened." 

"Anything else?"

"He knows her boyfriend's family well." 

"So there's a boyfriend...?"

"James Lauritson, 19-year-old Physics undergraduate. All he had to say was she's not around much at weekends, she got him into his fraternity, she's a good lay and she's pretty distant most of the time. Sounds to me like he's using her to get his homework done as much as anything."

"Have they let you into her room yet?"

"I'm on my way now." 

"Hold on. I'm putting you on speakerphone." Click. Scully switched the phone setting in Lieutenant Welsh's office so the others would be able to hear Mulder's evaluation of Darcy's dorm room. Kowalski, feet propped on the lieutenant's desk, yawned and stretched, prompting Scully to do the same; Ray had had a late night thinking about Darcy and worrying about Fraser; Scully had had a late night out with Carter. Now she was feeling guilty - she'd only just realised now that she'd heard Mulder's voice that she'd talked about his practically all night. But it wasn't like he'd been any more original - they'd got on so well because not only had she moaned about Mulder but he'd moaned about Lucy Knight. Still, they had another date arranged for that night and Scully wasn't about to break it just because of Mulder. He'd already spoiled so many of her relationships - she wasn't going to let him spoil this one, too...

"Okay, I'm in her room now." Mulder's voice boomed through the office, taking them all by surprise, even Fraser and the seemingly unflappable Agent Cooper. Ray almost fell from his chair mid-stretch. Cooper very nearly got a lapful of coffee. Fraser broke his stature-like stance. Scully was torn from her thoughts of Carter. 

"Okay then, Mulder," she said. "What do you see?" Pause. Crackle of static.

"Well, I just picked up an unopened letter and a note from...a girl called Lindsey at the MIT Drama Club. Seems out girl's quite the thespian - she's supposed to be in rehearsals playing the lead in Romeo and Juliet." Pause. "This is a nice room! I wish mine'd been this nice...Posters - Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, Evil Dead, Sean Connery as Bond, think that's Steve McQueen in Bullitt..." Pause. "Yeah, it is. Books - ooh the classics! American Psycho, The Shining, Interview with the Vampire...shouldn't she have some Shakespeare or Dickens or something?" 

"Well, she's a genius, Mulder, not a geek." Sigh. 

"Uh-huh. Textbooks. Folders of...physics. A guitar. CDs, sheet music; wonder what she's got in the closet..." 

"Clothes, perhaps?"

"...clothes." 

"What a surprise." 

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, Scully." Sigh. "Desk drawers - pens, paper, physics. Nightstand - oh. Now this is interesting." 

"What?"

"Handcuffs. Steel handcuffs. Scratched. Nice. I wonder what she gets up to with..." 

"Agent Mulder; the letter." Cooper broke in just before Mulder could complete his less than intelligent sentence and before Scully could give him her less than intelligent response. He also managed to save Ray the trouble of bawling out the less than sensitive agent for his less than pure thoughts about Darcy, and saved Fraser from blushing. 

"Sure, the letter." A sound of ripping paper. "Right, here we go. 'Dear Darcy, I'm writing to inform you that I have dispatched two agents to collect you and return you home safely to Chicago - I have received a number of threats against my life during the past two weeks and I believe that I am acting in your best interests, recalling you from university. Henrik Giger-Dahmer'. Man, that's cold. Anyone'd think they don't know each other." 

"They don't, really," Ray muttered. "She hates her father." 

"What was that?" Scully repeated him over the phone without the usual questioning. "Oh." Pause. "Well, I guess that's it here. I should get going and I'll see you all tomorrow - I'll call you if anything else...wait, I've got something." Crinkle crinkle. "An address." 

"Well, give it to us!" Mulder read it out and his inexplicably irate partner scrawled it down. 

"Thank you, Agent Mulder," Cooper told him. "You've been most helpful. We'll let you know if anything turns up." 

"Sure. Bye." And he hung up. Scully looked up at Cooper who was hanging up the lieutenant's phone. 

"Well, that was productive," she muttered. "That told us nothing we didn't already know." 

"Yes, it did," Cooper said, sighing. "In fact, it told us something incredibly important. And your partner's right, Agent Scully; sarcasm doesn't become you." 

Reduced to an ashamed six-year-old by Cooper's words, Scully asked what he meant was important. He turned to Ray and Ray nodded. 

"I think I know," he said. 

"Then by all means..."

"The letter. It was from her father, telling her the agents were coming for her." 

"Yes?"

"It was the only communication Henrik Giger-Dahmer made to Darcy about it." 

"Still, what does that mean?"

"It was unopened, Scully. She didn't know the guys were coming for her. She didn't know about any of it. She wasn't running from the FBI at all - she was running from someone else." 

\---

As the GTO slowed, Ray was the first to notice just what the place was that Mulder had the address for - delicately put, an 'Adult' store, not so delicately titled 'Private Parts'. He wasn't, however, incredibly surprised. Five minutes ago earlier he'd been surprised when they'd turned into the red light district, but not anymore. And besides, he'd got to know a whole different side to Darcy over the past few days. It almost made sense. She must've been in some kind of trouble and this place had something to do with it. 

He was, however, the only one of them that it made the slightest sense to; Cooper was uncharacteristically clueless, Fraser was still in his state of virtual catatonia and Scully, even if she sensed that Ray understood more than he was letting on, was herself at a loss. It was like he was psychic or something, or at least he understood Darcy better than the rest of them put together. 

Scully and Cooper left the car and Ray and Fraser watched them walk away  
into the shop. They came out less than five minutes later, Scully blushing  
the colour of her hair; Cooper nodded, looking over at the car, pointing  
to a curtained window above the shop and the pair headed to the alley  
that led behind the building. Ray amused himself with imagining what  
had happened inside to make Scully blush such a vivid shade of red. Fraser  
didn't notice either of them. 

 

Cooper walked behind Scully the whole way, giving her the space he understood  
her to need after their encounter with the store's proprietor. He was,  
as usual, right. It had been that way ever since his return from Twin  
Peaks; after all of that he'd been left with an uncanny sort of muted  
sixth sense. Not the weirdest experience he'd had up there by any means,  
but it ran pretty close. 

 

Scully knocked as Cooper came to a halt behind her; they waited maybe  
a minute or so, listening to much rustling and scurrying coming from  
inside the apartment, then the door opened onto a scene of chaotic clutter.  
And a man. 

 

25 at the very most, about 6'2," incredibly pale skin, Paul Newman blue  
eyes and Scully guessed there was a build very similar to Mulder's lurking  
behind his ultra-baggy black jeans and faded white T-shirt adorned with  
a print of a Botticelli angel. Scully, in her cynicism after seeing the  
place, knowing what it was above and noticing his blue-black hair, almost  
expected the angel to be smoking dope or something - in fact, she assumed  
it was until she got a better look at it later on. Cooper, on the other  
hand, had no doubts that the shirt was that of a Botticelli fan, an art-lover.  
In his mind the chaos of the apartment made no sense, nor did this guy  
living in it. 

 

"Agents Mu...sorry, Scully and Cooper, FBI," Scully stuttered, producing  
her badge, feeling her cheeks redden for the second time since they'd  
arrived. "We'd just like to ask you a few questions if that's..." A carefully-placed  
hand against Scully's chest toppled her into Cooper and sent them both  
to the floor - before they knew it, their guy was over the railing, crashing  
into a convenient pile of empty boxes and making off at top speed. They  
scooped themselves up and followed but he already had a massive head-start.  
Their only hope now was Fraser and Ray. 

 

"Stop him, Vecchio!" Scully yelled, rounding the corner at full pelt.  
Ray, already out of the car surreptitiously gazing into the shop window,  
turned to them and with a swift nod was off, followed closely by Fraser.

 

Cowboy boots are all very good for riding horses, walking, looking cool,  
but what they're definitely not designed for is chasing a guy on the  
streets of Chicago, and especially not if he's younger and healthier  
and wearing sneakers. Stan cursed his choice of footwear but continued  
to run, seeing Fraser pass him, pounce and take the guy down in one utterly  
graceful movement. He came to a stop, slapped on the handcuffs and gave  
Cooper and Scully a less than impressed smile as they stopped, panting.

 

"Thanks, Vecchio," Scully wheezed. He nodded. 

 

"Anytime. Got away from you, huh?" She glared at him briefly then hauled  
the handcuffed guy to his feet with Fraser's help. She was almost impressed  
with the Mountie. He may have been almost constantly catatonic, but she  
got the feeling he was usually very good at his job, an above-and-beyond-the-call  
kinda guy. So at least her intuition was working even if her brain wasn't.

 

\---

 

 

The ride back to the 27th was taken in complete silence, the guy wedged  
in between Cooper and Scully in the back seat, but as soon as they had  
him in an interview room, it was a different matter. At first he wouldn't  
say anything. Then he managed to choke out, as Ray pressed him to the  
desk, that his name was Brett Wolf. Not impressed with the answer, Cooper  
asked a few questions of his own, and that only served to convince him  
that the guy's name wasn't Brett Wolf, nothing more. Scully tried and  
got nothing. Ray felt like smashing 'Brett's' face against the table.  
No one would've stopped him. 

 

Scully disappeared to fetch coffee, taking Ray with her, and almost as  
soon as they'd made their exit, Fraser sprang to life. 

 

"I'd like to apologise for pouncing on you like that, Mr Wolf," he said,  
taking the chair opposite him. "You'll probably have a large bruise on  
your shoulder and lower back." He shrugged. 

 

"You were just doing your job, Constable." Fraser nodded. 

 

"Yes, that I was." He took a deep breath and placed his Stetson carefully  
on the desk. "And another part of my job is, from time to time, to give  
people bad news. I'm afraid Darcy is in a coma." The guy stopped rubbing  
his eyes. He stopped completely, abruptly, utterly motionless. Cooper  
congratulated the Mountie mentally - he definitely had a way with suspects.

 

"Is, uh, is she going to be okay?" His voice was ragged, almost out of  
control. 

 

"There's no way to tell, I'm afraid." 

 

"Can I see her?" Fraser glanced up at Cooper who was lurking by the window.

 

"If you answer a few questions, I don't see why not," Cooper said. The  
guy nodded awkwardly, his head in his hands. 

 

"Sure. Ask away." Cooper smiled and walked over, taking a chair next  
to Fraser as Scully and Kowalski returned, bearing coffee. 

 

"Thank you, Agent Scully," he said, taking his cup and taking a sip.  
"Ah, now that's good coffee. I only wish we had coffee like this back  
at the Bureau. Are you a coffee drinker, Mr Wolf?" 

 

"Can't get enough of the stuff." 

 

"Well then, we've got more in common than we thought. Have a cup - you'll  
enjoy it and you look like you need it. But let's drop the assumed name,  
huh?" 

 

"My name's Alexander Rowan McKay." He took the coffee, sipped and sighed,  
looking at Cooper. "You're right, Agent Cooper, this is good coffee."  
Cooper nodded. 

 

"I didn't think you looked like a 'Brett Wolf'," Scully said. 

 

"That's because I'm not." He smiled, almost. "Y'know, it's nice to be  
able to say that. I'm not Brett Wolf. I'm Xander McKay. Or, more correctly,  
Corts, although technically I'm still Calento...Brett Wolf is a hell  
of a lot simpler than going through all of that. I'm not sure which is  
my legal name anymore..." Ray froze. 

 

"Calento as in Tony Calento? Calento as in the Calento Family?" Xander  
nodded. 

 

"The very same. I'm Tony's adopted nephew. Long story." 

 

"We're not going anywhere," Scully said, and he nodded. 

 

"Okay. I was born in LA - hence the accent - and my mom was a Las Vegas  
showgirl who'd married my dad to get out of all that crap, but he died  
when I was two or something and she had to go back. We lived with her  
sister for a few years before we moved in with some other showgirls -  
you can tell I had an ideal childhood here - and by the time I was twelve  
she wasn't dancing anymore, she was singing. And she was good; I guess  
that's how she met Johnny Calento. They got married, Johnny adopted me,  
and for a few years it was great, living at the Calento place, all the  
money - but Johnny and my mom died. The cops said it was an accident  
but I don't know - there was always someone out to get Johnny. I had  
no idea what I was going to do, seventeen and on my own in Vegas, but  
Johnny's brother Tony from Chicago took me in, accepted me as part of  
the family. He let me stay on in Vegas until I was out of high school,  
and I finally came to Chicago when I was almost nineteen, only to find  
Tony Calento's like a real-life Michael Corleone. So here I am." 

 

"How old are you now?"

 

"Twenty-two. I've been here a little over three years." 

 

"How long have you been living over the porn shop?"

 

"It's an Adult Sex Shop, and just over two years. Maybe two and a half."

 

"How come you live there when you're a Calento?"

 

"You mean, shouldn't I be living in a mansion or something with my Mob  
family?" 

 

"Something like that," Scully agreed. 

 

"I used to. I could if I wanted to. But I'm in less danger at the shop  
and it pays surprisingly well. Besides, it keeps Tony happy, too." 

 

"Why's that?"

 

"If I wasn't there he'd have to get some other guy to run it, a guy from  
the family, and some middle-aged Italian-American in an Armani suit behind  
the counter of a shop called Private Parts might freak out the clientele.  
It just so happens that I'm part of the family *and* I look the part,  
so I got the job." 

 

"The shop's owned by the Mob?"

 

"Pretty much everything in my world is owned by the Mob, Agent Scully,  
including my apartment, my dog, and yes, even the shop." 

 

"What about Darcy?"

 

"What *about* Darcy?"

 

"Is she owned by the Mob?" Xander smiled, leaning back in his chair,  
smoothing down the Botticelli angel across his chest. 

 

"Like I said, Agent Scully, everything in my world." 

 

\---

 

 

Scully and Cooper were called away for a phone conference with AD Skinner.  
Constable Turnbull turned up and whisked Fraser away (somewhat reluctantly  
on Fraser's part) to the Consulate for cakes and tea with a visiting  
dignitary. Ray was alone with Xander. And when Xander began to speak,  
what he said terrified him. 

 

"Detective Vecchio." 

 

"That's me." Xander shook his blue-haired head slowly, his eyes never  
leaving Ray's. 

 

"But it's not," he said, frowning. "I've met enough Italian-Americans  
to fill a football stadium three times over - enough to know you're not  
one of them. Even less so than I am." 

 

"How d'ya know I'm not adopted?"

 

"I heard you talking to the Italian woman - I saw her badge. The civilian  
aid, Francesca Vecchio. Wife? I don't think so. Sister? More likely,  
but no family resemblance..." 

 

"Your point?"

 

"I don't think you're Vecchio at all." 

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Yeah. I think he's probably off somewhere doing some cop thing, and  
you're pretending to be him for whatever reason. I don't care about that,  
though. You want to know what I do care about?" Ray swallowed, hoping  
his poker face remained intact, although despite the conversation he  
was pretty sure Xander wasn't a threat. At least not to Vecchio or the  
assignment, but perhaps he could do some damage elsewhere...

 

"Sure. Why the hell not." 

 

"You want to know who I think you are?"

 

"Shoot." Stan leaned down over the desk, looking into Xander's eyes.

 

"Ray," he whispered. Ray sat down, heavily, almost missing the chair.  
"Darcy's Ray. Stanley Ray Kowalski. I saw a picture of you once, taken  
at night in bad light, but it's still you. She talks about you sometimes,  
you know, but only when she's too doped up to even know she's talking."

 

"Doped up? You're saying she's a junkie?" Ray's head crashed down into  
the desk and Xander winced in sympathy. 

 

"Yes, I guess I am." He sighed. "She'd have to be to get into the shit  
she's into." 

 

"She's in trouble?"

 

"That's not what I meant but that too." 

 

"What kind of trouble?" Ray's voice was frantic. 

 

"Trouble with the Mob. Trouble with Tony..."

 

"Go on..."

 

"She's been his number one girl for almost a year. He takes her everywhere,  
like a pretty little showpiece. He swears blind he loves her but with  
what he lets her, makes her, do - the bastard doesn't know what love  
is." 

 

"And you do?"

 

"Yes, I do. I love her. I'd do anything for her." 

 

"Oh really? Like what?"

 

"Rat out the Calento family voluntarily?" Ray sighed. 

 

"Point taken. You'd either have to love her like hell or be completely  
insane." 

 

"Both. But Tony's killing her slowly. Oh God, this wasn't supposed to  
happen! We were going to leave, run away, make a new life somewhere,  
maybe go to England where her family is or stay in the States - I may  
be a worthless son of a bitch but Darcy deserves so much better than  
this, and she could've taught, or done her PhD in peace. We could've  
got out of this with our money and contacts or we could've sent the Calentos  
down for their damned illegal porn racket. I wouldn't've had to live  
above and work in that bastard porn shop, feeling sick every time one  
of Tony's guys came in and I had to hand him a tape with my girlfriend  
on it...being there when they recorded that shit...Tony and his guys  
are one twisted bunch or fuckers, believe me." 

 

"Uh, stop. Rewind. Did you just say Darcy was in a porn movie?" Xander  
nodded, wiping tears from his big blue eyes. Ray wanted to feel sorry  
for him but there was something in the way - probably how he'd let all  
this happen and done nothing. But he'd been going to, and now he was  
betraying the Mafia to do it. This weird-looking guy before him really  
must love her, and that in itself was reason enough for Ray to dislike  
him. 

 

"She must've been in twenty by now," Xander told him, sighing, sad. "I  
saw a couple and couldn't believe it was her, the things she was doing.  
But then I saw them shoot a couple and I talked to her, and I saw her  
around - I believed it. She shouldn't be doing this, man, no way, and  
she knows it, but how do you say no to the Mob? And she only does them  
for Tony, for Tony and his damned cronies. But they're sick, and I mean  
*sick* with a capital 'S', some of them. I'm sure Tony's mental. God,  
they even made me do one with her once..." 

 

"Why the fuck did you do it? Couldn't you've said no or made up some  
excuse or some-fucking-thing?" Ray knew he was grasping at straws. 

 

"The alternative was worse, trust me," Xander said with a glance that  
struck Ray as completely honest. "Better me than that...him...Better  
me than him...Better me..." 

 

Xander couldn't cope - he just broke down and cried, sobbing, heaving,  
uncontrollable. He'd never told anyone before. He'd never dared to open  
his mouth - he'd been so scared to say a word to anyone for what they'd  
think of him and of Darcy and what they had together. But Ray was different.  
Ray had known Darcy before any of it happened, and he could understand  
this, how he wanted to get her out of it, away from it. Away from feeling  
constantly dirty, away from the crime, away from the sickness, somewhere  
he could hold her in his arms and for once not feel like he was sinking.

 

Ray understood. He understood the pain of seeing someone you know hurt,  
of wanting to help them so bad it consumes you. Fraser was killing him  
in just that way, had been for over a month now. He rounded the table  
and laid an arm across the boy's broad shoulders. 

 

"I used to be a surfer, you know," Xander mumbled into his hands. "I  
used to have long blonde hair and a tan, I used to have girls falling  
at my feet. I used to be an artist, too - I had the talent to make it.  
All the colleges and art schools wanted me. And look at me now..." Ray  
sighed as Xander sobbed, pulling him into his wiry arms. The boy practically  
collapsed on him, his muscular frame eclipsing Ray completely, making  
him feel tiny. But right then, Ray was in control. What he said could  
affect this boy, for good or ill. He had much more influence over Xander  
than he could even begin to comprehend right then; he sought his forgiveness,  
his absolution, his blessing. 

 

"I understand," he said. "I understand and everything's gonna be alright.  
For all of us. I promise it will." 

 

\---

 

 

Scully walked into the restaurant - a fancy Italian deal complete with  
authentic Italian waiters, she noted - at a little after 8pm that evening,  
and met Carter in the foyer. They were escorted to their table, Carter  
ordered wine, then the pair of them struggled with the incomprehensible  
Italian menu until they gave up and ordered Spaghetti Bolognese. The  
meal was nice, the place expensive and fairly nice, and the conversation  
fairly standard for the two of them. But as the dessert arrived - a concoction  
that Scully couldn't figure out for the life of her - their tack changed.

 

"You know, what's bothering me most about it, apart from being *sure*  
that Vecchio knows more than he's telling, is how disturbed the Mountie  
got by those marks on her wrists and ankles," Scully was saying. They'd  
been talking about work, and gradually her current case - also one of  
his - had come up. "I mean, it bothered him more than when he found out  
she'd been raped or she was in a coma. I just don't understand it." Carter  
nodded, swallowing a mouthful of his dessert. He had no idea what it  
was, either, but it tasted good. 

 

"Maybe he knows what they are," he said. "He might know what they are  
buy not want to believe it so he asked us." Scully shrugged. 

 

"I don't know. Maybe he does. I wouldn't put it past him to have more  
to do with this than any of us realise, but Vecchio seems to trust him."

 

"But you don't trust Vecchio?"

 

"No, I don't. How's the, uh, dessert?"

 

"Quite good, actually. Try some." He watched as she put a small piece  
into her mouth and smiled, nodding. 

 

"Yeah, that's nice. How did you know we'd like it?"

 

"Well, I had an Italian girlfriend once," he said. "She used to have  
me tasting all these weird things and I never knew what they were. She  
was a weird person. A wild person. But she knew what she wanted. And  
it usually involved handcuffs." Scully smiled. 

 

"I didn't have you figured for a bondage freak," she laughed. He shrugged.

 

"It's okay in moderation. But she, uh, had these...okay, I think I know  
what caused the marks on Darcy, and I didn't want to have to say because  
then Greene and Benton and Lucy and everyone'd be talking...She was  
probably into some heavy-duty bondage or S and M. My ex-girlfriend had  
been into all that for a while and she had marks just like those." Silence  
ensued, and eventually Scully nodded. 

 

"Makes sense," she said. 

 

"How so?"

 

"Her boyfriend manages a sex store. He said she'd gotten mixed up in  
something she shouldn't have and so it makes sense. I think. Thanks for  
telling me." 

 

"Anytime. But you're not going to tell anyone?"

 

"Like Greene or Benton?"

 

"Or Lucy." She shook her head. 

 

"No. Of course not. I'm a professional, and they have no need to know  
how I know how she got the marks." 

 

"Thanks. I could do without her - them - knowing all the sordid details."  
Scully smiled. 

 

"I know exactly what you mean. I'd die if Mulder knew half the things  
I keep from him...you love her, don't you." Carter frowned, but soon  
it melted to a smile to mirror hers. 

 

"And you love him." 

 

"I guess I do at that." 

 

"Then we're both fools." 

 

"For love?"

 

"For love. What else is there to be a fool for?"

 

"You know, I'm glad I met you." 

 

"Yeah, me too." 

 

\---

 

 

When Fraser finally arrived home after his tea and cakes date at the  
Consulate, he opened the apartment door to find his partner asleep on  
his sofa, Diefenbaker on the floor just below him. And Fraser smiled.  
The moonlight coming in through the window caught Stan's hair and made  
it glow like a halo. His long black coat was wrapped around him tightly  
and Ben watched as he shuddered beneath it, in his sleep - soon he was  
tucking a layer of blood-red serge around his partner's shoulders and  
ten minutes later he left the room, almost guilty. If felt like an invasion  
of privacy to watch him sleep, so vulnerable, under his own red coat.

 

It was 1:30am when Ray woke to a cold tongue lapping at his forehead.  
He pushed Diefenbaker away with a disgusted 'yeuch!' and settled back  
down under the coat, wondering why it smelled of Ben until he realised  
it was his uniform jacket - he barely had the time to note how considerate  
his partner was before Dief was about to strike for the second time,  
and he heard it. A low mumbling, whimpering, groaning sound, coming from  
Fraser's room, and a damned disturbing noise at that, catching on his  
heart. He gave Dief a quick pat on the head and made for Fraser's room.

 

He wasn't entirely sure what to do - he stood there, paced, glared at  
Dief who was giving him that 'do something' look, then sat down on the  
side of Ben's bed and laid his partner's head in his lap, stroking his  
hair, hushing him and wiping the tears away with his fingers. Gently,  
Ben woke. 

 

"Ray?" he questioned, looking up in the darkness through tear-blurred  
eyes. 

 

"Yeah, Frase, it's me," he murmured. His voice was so near...inches  
away, soft, safe. 

 

"Ray, what are you doing here?"

 

"You were having a bad dream, Frase, no big deal. Okay?"

 

"Yes, I'm okay, Ray." But Ray didn't believe him. It was something between  
the tone of his voice and the tears and those heart-wrenching noises  
he'd heard - he couldn't believe him. 

 

"You're a liar, Frase, but that's okay," he said. "Still, I wish you  
wouldn't lie to me - I mean, we're partners, Fraser, *partners*. We're  
not supposed to have secrets." 

 

"I'm just scared you'll hate me if I tell you this one, Ray. I don't  
want you to hate me..." 

 

"Jesus, Ben! I couldn't hate you if I tried. And you need to get this  
out in the open. You've been so closed off lately, you're like a robot  
or something. C'mon, Frase, tell me, and we'll both feel better. I promise."

 

"You promise?" Ray looked down into his partner's hopefully wide blue  
eyes and nodded. 

 

"Sure, Frase. I promise." Fraser sighed. 

 

"Okay. I, uh, well, Darcy, that is - Ray, I slept with her, with Darcy."  
Ray nodded, stroking back Ben's hair. 

 

"I know," he said. "And trust me, buddy, it's not such a big thing. People  
are sleeping together all over the world. Hell, there're probably a couple  
of hundred at it right now here in Chicago. It's not that big a deal."  
Ben shook his head. 

 

"Maybe not for everyone else, but for me...how could I do it? My God,  
Ray, she's only eighteen...and we didn't, I didn't, you know, use any..."

 

"Protection," Ray supplied. "I guessed. But Frase, everyone makes mistakes.  
And God knows I've made a few, so has Darcy, so have all the rest of  
us in this world. It's about time you did something you regret. But you  
know, it gets easier. Mistakes are things we all have to deal with, even  
you. But at least you haven't made the major fuck-ups I have. Count yourself  
lucky." 

 

"I don't feel lucky, Ray." 

 

"You're alive, Frase. That's lucky enough." 

 

"What if I don't want to be?"

 

"You'd kill yourself over sleeping with someone? C'mon, Frase, you're  
so much smarter than that." Ben sighed. 

 

"If I can't tell when a girl's still a teenager, when I sleep with her,  
I don't feel all that smart." Ray sighed and tilted Ben's head in his  
lap so that their eyes met. 

 

"Let me tell you something, Fraser," he said, leaning closer. "Darcy  
Giger-Dahmer is stunning. There is no way on Earth anyone could believe  
she's only eighteen. And she's an astounding actress. Her boyfriend told  
me that for the first five months he knew her he thought she was from  
Chicago, her accent was so good. And she's a genius. She's doing a PhD  
or an MA or something at MIT - not all that many eighteen-year-olds are  
doing that. By all rights she should be in her twenties. But she's not,  
okay. She's eighteen and she's beautiful and you made a mistake. God,  
at least you're not divorced!" 

 

"No, but I'm verging on child molestation." 

 

"She's eighteen. It's legal. If you were in England it'd've been legal  
at sixteen, damnit!" 

 

"That still doesn't make it right, though, does it Ray?"

 

"No. Okay Frase, no. It doesn't make it right. You were wrong. She was  
wrong. I'll probably clich you to death one day, but it takes two to  
tango. She was there too." 

 

"She's a drug addict, Ray. She's running from the Mob. She probably thought  
sleeping with me was the only way I'd help her." 

 

"Ha! Two seconds with you and she'd've wanted to get you into bed, Mob  
or no Mob," Ray sighed. "You underestimate the effect you have on women.  
Hell, there are even guys out there lusting after you, Frase! Darcy would've  
wanted you anyway. And as for that being the only way you'd help her,  
that's bullshit and you know it. All you have to do is bat those baby  
blues and even the most suspicious guy in the world'd be eating out of  
your hand. You exude trust, Fraser. You're just trying to blame yourself."

 

"That's not true," he murmured and closed his eyes, squeezing out twin  
tears that Ray brushed away lightly. Ben was mystified. He'd been sure  
Ray would be horrified to find he'd slept with Darcy, but he'd said he'd  
already known. And even when Ray had raised his voice, when he should've  
hit him, all he'd done was stroke back his hair, calming him. And Ben  
started to cry. Mostly because of Darcy but also because he was sure  
he didn't deserve a friend like Ray Kowalski. 

 

"I just don't think I can forgive myself, Ray - I don't think I can cope."

 

"Sure you can. I know what it's like. I'll help you through it." Ben  
frowned. 

 

"How could you know what it's like?" he almost moaned, trying to contain  
his anger. He didn't want Ray to hate him. He didn't want Ray to leave  
\- he knew he'd just give up completely if he did. "Slept with any eighteen-year-olds  
recently, Ray?" Despite how he felt, he couldn't resist one dig, one  
shot, and he cursed himself as soon as it left his mouth. But instead  
of hitting back, Ben found himself listening to him take a long, deep  
breath, and feeling it on his cheek as he exhaled, warm, close. 

 

"Oh, I know what it's like," Ray said, whispered. The pain in his voice  
was so raw that Ben could barely bear to listen. "It's worse for me,  
Ben, so much worse. There's not a day goes by that I don't think about  
what I did, believe me - not a single hour, a minute. You see, she was  
the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Tall, blonde, legs up to her  
neck, and, breasts like, uh, fuck, she was pretty. And I couldn't believe  
my luck when she liked me, too - jeez, a thirty-something Chicago cop  
and *that*? No way. But she liked me, and God help me, I liked her. I  
slept with her, three times, before she told me she was seventeen. Y'know,  
I cried the night I found out. I thought I loved her - I think maybe  
I do now. She was just so beautiful that I couldn't believe she was only  
seventeen, and boy, did that ever kill me. I thought we could've had  
something, really *had* something, but she was so young...I would've  
given up everything for her. I almost did. So don't you tell me that  
what you did was bad. Darcy's eighteen." 

 

"That's only a year younger, ray - yours was only twelve months younger.  
What's twelve months?" 

 

"Oh, but that's not all, Frase." The tone of Ray's voice chilled Ben  
to the bone. 

 

"What is it, Ray?" He was almost afraid to ask, a sense of dread in the  
pit of his stomach. 

 

"I'd just divorced Stella," he said. Ben sighed, relieved. "That's not  
it. I'd just divorced Stella. It was just over a year ago now. I was  
helping to protect a family, and I slept with the seventeen-year-old  
daughter. Darcy, Frase. I slept with Darcy. In her bed, under the same  
roof as her parents, in the room she'd had since she was a child. I slept  
with a seventeen-year-old girl, Fraser, and I was her first. She lost  
her...innocence...because of me. Now say it's okay." 

 

\---

 

 

Fraser wasn't mad at him. Stan couldn't believe it. He had to keep reminding  
himself that he'd told him his biggest secret and he didn't hate him.  
He was still smiling when he woke up...but not for long. He was lying  
back against the bed but what was under his head wasn't bed and sure  
didn't feel like pillow - he looked up tentatively and met Fraser's blue  
eyes. 

 

"Morning, Ray." He was up like a shot, off the bed, over by the window  
and running a hand stiffly through his hair in a vain attempt to regain  
composure, his face strangely contorted. "Ray?" 

 

"Why the fuck didn't you wake me up, Fraser?" he demanded. "For Christ's  
sake, it's...6:45, but that's beside the point. I was..." 

 

"You just looked so comfortable, I didn't have the heart to wake you,  
Ray," Ben told him, sitting up cross-legged on the bed. "And it wasn't  
hurting me, so...Are you okay, Ray?" Ray sighed, ran his hand through  
his hair one last time and shrugged his shoulders. 

 

"I don't know, Frase. I guess I'm just not used to , uh, well, could  
we just not talk about it?" 

 

"Whatever you say, Ray." Ray paused and looked at his partner through  
narrowed eyes for a moment. "Ray?" 

 

"You're talking, Frase. In well-constructed, coherent sentences. You've  
been smiling. Are you okay?" 

 

"Why do you ask, Ray?"

 

"Oh, no reason. Just that for over a week I've practically had to slap  
you to get you to string two words together, that's all. Nothing, really."

 

"Point taken, Ray." 

 

"And why the hell are you ending every single sentence with my name?  
It's disturbing." 

 

"Just making up for all the times I haven't said it over the last week."  
Fraser smiled. 

 

"That's cute, Frase, real cute. Now I'm gonna make coffee, presuming  
you have some..." 

 

"I always have some, in case you drop by, Ray," Fraser interrupted. Kowalski  
mock-glared at him. 

 

"Don't do that, Fraser," he warned. "And as I was saying, I'm gonna go  
make some coffee. Then I'm gonna come back in here and you're gonna be  
dressed, okay?" Fraser nodded, reluctantly. "Okay, what's wrong with  
that plan?" 

 

"I was thinking about having a shower, Ray," he said. "I seem to have  
neglected my personal hygiene somewhat and a shower might do me good."

 

"True, it might, but you smell fine to me." 

 

"Ray, what do you smell like to you?"

 

"I don't know, not especially nice, I guess, but okay." 

 

"My point exactly, Ray." 

 

"Are you saying I smell?"

 

"Well, I didn't actually say that, Ray..."

 

"The words weren't there but the meaning definitely was. You think I  
smell. Thanks for telling me!" His voice was raised but he was smiling.  
"Okay, change of plan. I'm gonna go take a shower, then make coffee.  
You have until I've finished that coffee to get your butt out of bed,  
take a shower and dress. I'm leaving now." He turned to leave. 

 

"Oh, Ray?" Ray stopped and turned back to him.

 

"Yeah, Frase?"

 

"Take a T-shirt from the closet. I find the coffee stain on your stomach  
a little...disturbing." Flashing him a dazzling lop-sided grin, Ray  
grabbed a white v-neck affair from the closet and was off to the shower.  
Ben just lay back on the bed and tried not to think about how good his  
partner's head had felt against his bare stomach just minutes before.

 

\---

 

 

It was 9am by the time Fraser and Kowalski finally arrived at the station,  
having showered, drunk coffee/tea, eaten at a tempting-looking caf they'd  
passed and dropped in to see Darcy briefly, and when they got there,  
a shiny black rental car was just pulling up. Ray parked the GTO, they  
both got out and at the same time Mulder exited the rental car. 

 

"Well, Agent Mulder," Ray exclaimed, the two of them walking over. "Haven't  
you missed a lot while you've been away. I mean, if you'd been here,  
maybe you could've had another of Darcy's boyfriends knock you out."  
Mulder smiled a small sarcastic smile and turned to Fraser. 

 

"Is he always this obnoxious, Constable?" he asked. 

 

"Only on weekdays, Agent Mulder." 

 

"It's Saturday." 

 

"Then perhaps he just doesn't like you." Ray guffawed at Fraser's deadpan  
delivery and Mulder stalked off alone, leaving Fraser smiling. "Was it  
something I said?" 

 

"Damn straight it was something you said! You just insulted an FBI Agent,  
Fraser. Are you feeling okay?" 

 

"I'm feeling strangely fine. Thank you kindly for asking, Ray." Fraser  
was back. Ray smiled, clapped his partner across the back and walked  
into the building. 

 

Scully wasn't there - according to Cooper, she'd taken off about fifteen  
minutes earlier saying there was something she had to do that just couldn't  
wait, and that was that. Mulder relentlessly checked his watch and the  
door from then until her return, but the rest of them were a little more  
concerned with Darcy's attackers. 

 

"And you're sure the boyfriend told you everything he knows?" Cooper  
asked. Ray nodded. 

 

"Absolutely. By the time he'd finished I could've written his life story.  
Xander's told us all he knows." 

 

"Then where do we go from here?" Mulder asked, looking at his watch.  
"What sort of leads do we have?" 

 

"Tony Calento," Ray replied. "Tony and his illegal porn." 

 

"Then we should pay Tony Calento a visit." 

 

"Not likely." 

 

"And why not?"

 

"Fraser?" Mulder frowned and looked at the Mountie. 

 

"Tony Calento is the head of the Calento family, one of the top Mob men  
in the city, and has been known to make his problems just 'disappear'.  
You go after Tony Calento with no evidence and you might just find *you*  
disappear." 

 

"Fraser..."

 

"Oh, yes Ray. Allegedly of course." Cooper smiled. He guessed he'd known  
all along that there was a person under the catatonia of the Mountie  
\- there had to be for Kowalski to demonstrate such faith in him. He just  
wondered what exactly it was that the cop had done to bring his partner  
around. But no, in fact, if he never got to know it wouldn't've bothered  
him. He was just glad they were okay again. They had a partnership, and  
if Cooper knew anything, it was the value of partnership. 

 

"So we don't go after Calento?"

 

"Oh, we do." 

 

"But you just said..." Mulder was thoroughly confused. 

 

"No, Fraser just said," Kowalski replied. "I'm much more in favour of  
the direct approach; we go over to Tony's place, knock on the door and  
ask nicely if he tried to have the daughter of the director of the FBI  
shot to death. I don't see any problems with that." 

 

"But Ray..."

 

"No buts, Fraser. We're doing this. I mean, he couldn't possibly have  
a cop, a Mountie, and three FBI agents murdered in broad daylight in  
the centre of Chicago, right?" 

 

"I don't know, Ray..."

 

"Well, you don't have to come, Frase." 

 

"You know I will, though, Ray." 

 

"I do?"

 

"I always do." 

 

"Wait a minute," Mulder broke in. "Three agents? I see two." 

 

"And the third you don't see is Special Agent Dana Scully, currently  
MIA somewhere in the greater Chicago area," Kowalski told him, more than  
a little sarcastic. "Away for a couple of days and forgotten her already?  
Must be that new girlfriend we've heard so much about." Mulder blushed.

 

"She told you about Kelly?" Each nodded in turn. 

 

"'Fraid so, Mulder." 

 

"Does she have to go?"

 

"Yes, she has to go. You don't want her to?"

 

"Well...Are you sure?"

 

"As sure as I'm gonna get." 

 

"But she's not here." 

 

"She will be." 

 

"But she..."

 

"Mulder, we wait for Scully." 

 

\---

 

 

The red-haired agent resurfaced at midday, about three hours later, and  
by the time she arrived, her partner was no longer worried about her  
being shot by the Calentos. There was something bigger now, something  
not a one of them would ever be able to forget, that had arrived during  
her absence - the evidence they needed to convict Tony Calento and numerous  
members of his family, even if their arrests would not be firmly connected  
to the attempted murder of Darcy Giger-Dahmer. Instead, they had, caught  
on tape, something which could mean a big bye-bye to the Calentos and  
their alleged illegal porn. 

 

But the tape wasn't just the illegal porn they took it for at first,  
after reading the attached note. It was something else. Something that  
would give Mulder yet another reason for needing therapy, give Cooper  
nightmares for months, almost make Scully physically ill and terrify  
both Ben and Ray. It was vile, it was dirty, and it was snuff. 

 

The note read: 'Ray, I hoped you'd never have to know about any of this,  
but it's too late for me to get all worried about what you might think  
of me; all I want you to know is I'm ashamed, I'm sorry, and I'm scared.  
But I think you need to see this, because these men need to be stopped  
\- it should never, ever happen again to anyone else, and if anyone can  
put an end to it, Ray, you can. Please, do this for me, and show as many  
people as you can, tell people - the more people who know, the safer  
you'll be. Expect to hear from the FBI. And remember - whatever happens  
to me, I'll always love you. Darcy. P.S. The other girl's name is Monique  
Loder, and her parents live somewhere in Nashville. If you find them,  
tell them I'm sorry - I never meant for any of this to happen'. 

 

Naturally, no one assumed there would be anything other than pornography  
on that videotape, but when they saw Monique Loder handcuffed to a cellar  
wall side by side with Darcy, slowly bleeding to death from the slashes at her wrists inflicted by Tony Calento even before she was strangled during the act, they knew what it was. Tony, the guy smiling, thrashing the hell out of Darcy's thighs as he watched one of his men strangle a girl to death, was going down. 

\---

Stan brought the GTO to a stop outside the Calento offices about 2:30 that afternoon, nodded to the other and left the car. He quickly checked his gun and walked, flanked by Mulder and Cooper and followed by Scully and Fraser, to the door. 

The legal front for the Calentos was a small chain of nightclubs dotted around Chicago, Miami and Las Vegas, in addition to their casinos - Stan, Fraser and the others had ended up at one of them which was known to also house Tony's headquarters. And they had it on the good authority of a narc squad who'd been observing the family on a suspected drugs charge that the boss was in the house. 

Stan knocked on the door. They waited, the five of them alone in the dirty alley. A slot opened to reveal only a pair of sunglasses-covered eyes. 

"Who are you and what do you want?" a rasping Chicago-accented voice demanded, blowing out smoke as he spoke. Stan stepped forward, holding up his badge. 

"Ray Vecchio, Chicago PD," he said. "FBI Special Agents Mulder, Scully and Cooper and RCMP Constable Fraser to see Tony, thanks." 

"Don't move." The slot closed with a bang and Scully jumped. Ray sighed and ran a hand somewhat unsteadily through his hair. Cooper and Mulder exchanged a glance that both understood to mean that the other wasn't the least bit happy at their current situation. Fraser looked around, stroking one eyebrow with his thumb, and began to wish he had a gun, having noticed he was the only one without. The slot opened. 

"The boss says he'll see you." The faceless goon opened the door, and all five walked in, not quite shaking but almost there. 

Tony's musclebound doorman led them down a long, dark corridor, past an entrance to the bar, and through to a poorly-lit back room set up as an office where lurked seven men. Ray felt sick to his stomach as he looked at them - three of them he knew as Tony's and his two favourite cronies from the video, and each was certainly hiding more under the desk or their coat than knees or a pen. He swallowed and walked straight up to Tony Calento's desk. 

"And what can I do for you today, Detective?" the balding, ageing second-generation Italian-American asked. Ray suppressed a shudder as he spotted a photo of this ogre with Darcy on the filing cabinet behind him, but he forced himself to look away before turning to Tony. "Come to inspect the place? Want to book us for your birthday? Someone got too many unpaid parking tickets? What?" Ray cleared his throat. 

"Tony Calento, you're under arrest for the murder of Monique Loder. You do not..." 

"What?" The man's voice was so loud and unexpected that Mulder almost went for his gun. "You're doing what?" 

"I'm arresting you for the murder of Monique Loder, Mr Calento," Ray repeated calmly, almost indifferently. "We have evidence which places you at the scene, and which states that her death was ordered by you. We're also gonna charge you with assault on Darcy Giger-Dahmer, and on a personal note, I hope you burn in hell for what you did to her." Scully thought about stopping him, but changed her mind as she realised she agreed with him. "Now, are you gonna come quietly or am I gonna have to get me agent friends here to 'cuff you?" Tony shrugged, the shoulders of his immaculate blue Armani suit crinkling. 

"What if I don't want to go at all, Detective?"

"Then I'll take great pleasure in pulling my gun, 'cuffing you at gunpoint and wrenching your arms out of joint on the way out, okay?" The door-goon turned to his boss, wide-eyed, as if to say 'let me at him!', and Mulder almost grinned at how much the overweight 6'4" bouncer reminded him of Scrappy Doo. Tony shook his head and the good unwillingly returned to his previous position. Another had his hand hovering close to one lapel. A third moved around to flank the boss on the other side beside the door-goon. Two on one side, Tony, four on the other side. Three seated, four standing, all with severely itchy trigger-fingers. Ray and Cooper broke out in a cold sweat simultaneously. Mulder had already started a minute or so earlier. Scully and Fraser remained icily calm and detached, statue-like.

"Then I suggest you pull your gun and try it, Detective," Tony said, the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. "You'll be dead before you've moved a muscle." 

"Threatening a police officer? How big of you, Tony." 

"Oh, not as brave as coming in here and trying to arrest me for murder, I admit," he said. "But don't I at least deserve some credit for killing a Chicago Police Officer, three FBI agents and a, um, a Mountie? What the hell's he doing here?" 

"He's my partner, scumbag. Leave him the fuck alone." Tony smiled. Ray bristled. 

"Your partner? Is that what you call it?" He leaned forward over his desk, closer to Ray, conspiratorial. "Tell me, Detective; which one of you plays the woman? Is he good in bed? You make a lovely couple." And Ray snapped. The gun was out in a flash, directed at Tony, his jaw set.

"Like it or not, you're coming with us," he spat through clenched teeth, seething whilst blushing furiously. "And one day I'll see you pay for what you've done." Tony just smiled and yawned loudly. 

"I think you've outstayed your welcome," he said, leaning back in his leather swivel chair. "I thought we might be able to reach an agreement but clearly I was wrong. I'm sorry to have top do this, but...Boys, kill them." All six goons drew guns. The three agents drew guns. Ray's backup entered the building to the melodious cracking of gunfire. 

\---

Harding Welsh was a hard man to work for but ultimately fair, and he cared for the welfare of his officers. That is why he walked into that room with such dread and apprehension, having heard those shots ring out through the deserted nightclub. He had an officer in that room - one of the best masquerading as one of his best. Ray Kowalski. His damn fool unofficial Mountie partner was probably there, too, not to mention those three FBI agents whose deaths could cost him his career...But his career wasn't what made his heart beat double-time as his team rant through the building - he had more important things on his mind. Five lives and a murderer. 

They burst through the door all guns and bulletproof vests, and his stomach sank as his eyes adjusted and took in the scene. Blood - so much blood. Guns. Bodies. But who was who? He couldn't tell, except for the Mountie in red serge crumpled in the corner...God no, not Fraser! 

Something moving caught his eye, away to the right, and as he turned he came face to face with Dale Cooper. 

"Agent Cooper, is everything alright? We heard gunshots." Cooper sighed, motioning to the corner, then behind him to the bodies. 

"If you're asking if we 'got the bad guys', Lieutenant, then yes - everything's alright," Cooper said, deflated. "If you're asking if every*one* and not every*thing* is alright, then the answer is no." He looked around and caught the eye of an officer who he asked to call an ambulance then back to the lieutenant. "Two of Tony Calento's men are dead, one is well on his way, two were shot through their shoulders, Mr Calento and the seventh man are disarmed and cuffed, Agent Scully was grazed by a bullet and, well, see for yourself." 

Lieutenant Welsh nodded, then turned slowly to face the corner where Fraser lay crumpled, his back to him. But as he drew closer, he noticed. Fraser was moving, his shoulders shaking, and he was whispering almost inaudibly. He lay one hand on his shoulder and the Mountie jumped. 

"Constable?" Fraser moved, looking up at him. 

"I should not have let him come here," he said simply, tears in his eyes. And the lieutenant saw as he shifted that in his arms lay his partner, bleeding red blood onto blood red serge, pale and unmoving. 

"Kowalski," he whispered. And he left the room, running, calling for the ambulance or a doctor or a paramedic. He had an officer down. And he'd be damned before another good man went to his death under his command.

Scully wanted to go to them, to try to help, but Mulder pressed her firmly into her seat and pressed a handkerchief to her cut forehead. Scully's vision was blurry from the blood in her eyes and Mulder felt like he could cry but knew he wouldn't. He'd be strong for her. 

Ben held Ray in his big, strong arms and rocked his slim body back and forth, feeling the coldness of his skin against his blood-slick hands. He couldn't let him go, he wouldn't let himself. He knew he could never live without him, his best friend; all he wanted then was for Ray's eyes to open, his lips to smile and his mouth to say that everything would be alright. But none of that happened. Instead, he lay motionless on the office floor, cold and bleeding. 

"Please don't go, Ray," he whispered, folding his partner in against he chest, his lips moving against blonde hair. "You can't - you can't leave me like this. Please don't go, Ray, please don't go..." And once his tears had begun to flow, it seemed they would never cease. 

\---

No one bothered the Mountie as he sat waiting in the corridor - they saw the tear-stained porcelain-white face, the crumpled and bloodstained coat and hands, and they let him be. And if he hadn't been away in a world completely his own, Fraser might have been grateful. But all he could think was how he wished it could have been him and not Ray, how his life would mean so little without him. And all he could see was blood.

He'd been so cold when the ambulance had arrived, so cold and pale and limp there in his arms. The paramedics had taken him away, left him alone in that office with the blood on his hands and the tears in his eyes, but it was only seconds before he'd stood and run after them to climb into the ambulance alongside them and hold his partner's hand all the way to the hospital. 

He'd been taken straight to surgery from the ER, where Dr Greene assured Fraser, Dr Corday would take great care of him. He'd followed them up and taken a seat in the waiting area. And all he did from then on was wait. After all, for the last few months that was all he'd done, so surely he could wait a little longer... 

Panic was something Fraser had never been able to deal with in any sort of rational way, and as he sat there, he felt panic rise in him, tearing down his self-control. He wanted to cry, to release it all as he had tried to do as he had sat by Darcy in the ER, but no tears would come. The situation was totally different now with Ray than it had been with Darcy, and he knew it. This was infinitely more complicated than his relationship with Darcy had been, or could ever have been. 

As the minutes ticked by, he started to notice something else. Every minute that passed he was becoming more and more empty, and that emptiness was slowly consuming him. It was something he'd felt before, almost constantly for a couple of months now, but the intensity scared him. It was like he had a black hole inside of him, sucking away al emotion and feeling and thought until he was left with nothing but the one thing he didn't want to have to face up to. He knew it was true and keeping it inside had him completely crippled, but he was scared. This was a part of himself that he could never accept or even acknowledge, but the situation was pushing him to it...

Scully, complete with bloody, unbuttered forehead, took the seat beside him when an hour had passed and he couldn't even acknowledge her presence. She looked at him and in an instant she'd understood. She'd taken a few minutes whilst waiting for a doctor in the ER to visit Fraser; she told him Tony had confessed and everything had worked out, but Fraser said nothing. 

"He's going to be fine, Constable," she said. "You'll see. Don't give up yet." She rose, bent to press her lips to his forehead, then left. The tears came. 

\---

Scully was just finishing up being suchered when Mulder returned from making his brief phone report to AD Skinner, and she motioned for him to come in as she noticed him loitering near the doorway. 

"Well, Skinner seems satisfied," he said, leaning back against the wall, looking over at his partner who was perched atop a bed with a dark-haired tall male doctor cutting the thread he was stitching with. "Maybe now we can get back to DC and get back to some real work." Scully sighed. "What is it?" She thanked Dr Kovac and Mulder was relieved as he letgo of her and left the room. 

"This isn't the way I wanted to have to tell you, Mulder," she said in a clear, calm voice, her eyes on his. "But it's probably a good idea to get this out in the open. I've requested a transfer and Skinner's looking into it for me. I'm going back into pathology, Mulder - I'm leaving the X-Files." He just stared at her, dumbstruck, a look of awe on his face. She jumped down off the bed and almost went over on her heel - Mulder appreciated the imperfection of her as she stood there, hair ruffled, bloody forehead, off balance. He caught her arm as she was about to open the door. 

"Why are you leaving me, Scully?" he asked, peering down into her big green eyes that refused to meet his. "What's wrong? I thought you were happy on..." 

"That's just it," she snapped, pulling her wrist away. "You *thought* I was happy, Mulder, but I'm not. I haven't been for about a year now, and I want to get away from all this, okay?" 

"From all what?" She sighed, exasperated. 

"All *this*! The X-Files and all your lunatic theories. From alien abduction and government conspiracies. From vampires and werewolves and fat-eating monsters." 

"There were werewolves?"

"Yes, there were. Those guys in the cabin in the middle of nowhere and the Indians. Yes, there were werewolves." 

"So you're leaving me to dissect corpses for a living?"

"Simply put, yes. I've had enough." 

"Isn't there any way, anything I..."

"No."

"What did I do that was so terrible?" Mulder was frowning, an almost wounded look on his face 6that made him seem so vulnerable that Scully almost couldn't do it. She fought against herself - the side that loved him and the side that hated him fought it out and in the end her rational self decided it. She had to go through with it. She had to leave. 

"You take me for granted," she said. "Every time you call you expect me to drop everything and do exactly what you say. You take me on wild goose chases half way across the continent, you almost get me killed, you help jeopardise my career, you make me talk to those three freaky friends of yours, you stole my Christmas Eve to take me to e haunted house! And you can't shut up about your damned girlfriend. I mean, what do I care about your little slut of a girlfriend? But you talk about her, you flaunt her. I'm fed up of hearing Kelly this and Kelly that..."

"Stop." And she stopped, shocked. He'd had the audacity to stop her? And she was terrified of what he might do next. He kissed her. 

Suddenly she was in his arms, close to him, his lips soft on hers. She couldn't believe it. After so long only dreaming of it, it was happening; she melted inside, all resolve turning to mush with the rest of her as her partner held her to him, strong. She frowned as he pulled away. 

"What was that?"

"A kiss, Scully."

"I know it was a kiss, Mulder, but why did you do it?" He smiled a small, tentative smile and settled his perfect hazel eyes on her. She'd always thought that every little piece of him was perfect. Now she knew his kiss was, too. 

"Because I just realised something," he said. 

"And what's that?" She was back to her bristly, cold tone. 

"You love me." She froze. "And what's more, you know you love me. You're leaving because of that, aren't you. Damn it, Scully, you're leaving because you love me!" His tone was incredulous - he was almost oblivious to her blushing as he stared at her in open disbelief. Slowly, she nodded.

"You're right," she said. "I'm leaving because of you, because I love you. But before you get all triumphant about this, you're also the most insensitive, egotistical pig that I've ever met, and I hope I never see you again after my transfer comes through. You really have no idea what a living hell you've made of my life, Mulder. I'll never forget that, and I hope you won't, either." Again, she tried to leave, and again, he stopped her. 

"Don't leave like this, please," he said, his tone almost begging. 

"And why should I stay? So you can gloat about your pretty young thing of a girlfriend?" 

"I never meant to hurt you - I want you to know that." 

"No, you were just being insensitive." 

"Sure I was. But I was also trying to make you jealous. I don't even like Kelly. The whole thing was to make you jealous." 

"Mulder, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I'm an idiot, I guess," he said. "How didn't I notice? God, Scully, I'm sorry. I had no idea how you felt or that I was taking advantage of you like that. I wouldn't blame you if you never speak to me again, but you should know something." 

"And what's that?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, still in a hostile stance, hands on hips. 

"You're always the first one I call, the one I ask along, because I know I can trust you. And because it's not the same without you with me. I want you with me because you're everything I'm not and you ground me, balance me. I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm nothing without you. I love you too, Scully." And as her eyes met his, in that moment she knew it was true. And that moment was the longest of her life, the moment before she forgave her partner everything he'd ever done to her as he took her in his arms, hers at last. Forever. 

\---

"Fraser." The low voice beside him and the hands shaking him gently by his shoulders woke him from his dreamless sleep. His eyes opened slowly and met with those of Lieutenant Welsh. 

"Leftenant?" he muttered, frowning and rubbing his eyes. Welsh took the seat next to him. 

"The doctors say you can see him now," Welsh told him in a soft voice Fraser didn't know he possessed. He almost didn't hear him. 

"Did you say...?"

"You can see him," a doctor who had appeared as if from nowhere confirmed. "Follow me, Constable." Fraser glanced at the lieutenant who just gave him a solemn nod; Fraser rose and followed the doctor. They stopped outside a door with a window in it, and Fraser couldn't bring himself to look through. 

"Will he recover, Doctor?" he asked simply. The doctor, a woman with long curly hair, changed her stance and looked at him. 

"Well," she said with an English accent. "I'll be honest. There's a slight chance that complications may arise, but we're pumping him full of antibiotics to prevent that. He lost a lot of blood. He went into shock. But the gunshots themselves missed all of his major organs, so that's something to be grateful for at least; he's stable for the moment is all I can really say and even though the anaesthetic shouldn't wear off for a while, you can see him." She paused. "If you want to, of course." 

"Oh, I want to," he said. "I do want to. Thank you Doctor..."

"Corday. I'm the one who operated on him." 

"Thank you kindly, Dr Corday."

"That's fine, Constable," she said, smiled then left Fraser standing outside Ray's room. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the doorframe, breathing deeply. He wasn't sure he could do it, face it, but he knew he had to. His partner was in there, Ray, the one who had forgiven him what he had thought to be his worst mistake, and right now, however Fraser himself was feeling, Ray needed him. He opened the door and stepped into the room. 

The feelings Ben got as he looked at his partner were mixed - he began to pull them apart as he took the chair at his bedside. One was unmistakable- anger. Anger at himself for letting it happen, for not being there in that bed instead of him, and at the men who had done this. Another stood out, also - sadness, that all of this had happened at all and that there was nothing he could do, and he knew another from the previous night - the guilt of watching him sleep in that vulnerable state, so like a total invasion of privacy. But none of that really mattered then; it was the fourth that scared him, and even though it really did terrify him beyond all reason, he wasn't going to pretend anymore. 

Taking a deep breath, he took he motionless partner's hand in his, smiling inwardly at how much warmer he felt, but that wasn't exactly his primary concern. There was something he had to do, something important, that he knew he had to do. 

He shuffled forward closer to the bed, clearing his throat nervously. His nervousness confused him; it wasn't even like there was a chance Ray could hear him while he was under the anaesthetic, so what was wrong with him? Finally he decided that since there was no outward reason for his nerves, he was nervous about saying it aloud and finally admitting it to himself. That had to be it. 

"Ray," he said, whispered, as close to the bed as he could be without actually sitting on it, his knees pushed up uncomfortably against the side, now with both hands around one of his partner's. "Ray, there is something I have to tell you. And it's important, so all I want you to do is lie there and listen. You see, uh, this is so incredibly hard for me. I never thought I'd be saying this, but I know I have to. I don't want you to die not knowing, and I don't want to die knowing you don't know. You scared me this afternoon, bleeding and cold and motionless, and I knew I had to - yes, I know, I should stop babbling and get to the point, so here goes. I, uh, why is this so hard to say? I'm just going to come out and say it. Now. Ray, I think I love you." He took a deep breath, looking away from his partner's face to the sheets, and sighed. "No, damnit, I know I love you. I don't know - I think maybe I have since we met - but these last few months, I've been so distant because I can't trust myself around you, not feeling like this, and I didn't want you to know. I'm not ever sure I want you to know now, but I have to say it. I love you, Stanley Raymond Kowalski. There. I've said it." And he left in tears. 

\---

The one day in the next week that Fraser visited the hospital was not to see Ray but Darcy - he hadn't been able to bring himself to go up to Ray's room, and found himself outside the girl's instead, knocking then entering. 

"Hey, Constable," Carter greeted him. "Good to see you. How's you partner?"

"Recovering well, I believe," Fraser almost mumbled, confused why Carter was there, and Lucy Knight as well. "Could I just ask why you're here, Doctor? Is everything alright?" Carter shrugged. 

"Sure. Lucy and I came to thank Darcy. Without her, Agent Scully would never have come here and without Agent Scully I don't think Lucy would ever have found out how I feel about her." 

//So that's where she was for those three hours//, Fraser thought, everything suddenly dropping into place. //Telling Lucy that Carter loves her//. He looked at the two of them, both smiling as Carter reached for her hand and planted a kiss on her forehead. 

"And thank you too, Constable," Lucy said. "You saved Darcy's life. We're all grateful for that." Fraser nodded. 

"I'm glad to see the two of you are happy," she said. "Agent Scully would be happy also, now her and her partner are partners in, um, more way than one." Carter grinned. 

"She and Mulder are together?" Fraser nodded again. "Good. Dana deserves to be happy. And thanks again. Without you and your partner and Dana and even Mulder and Cooper, I guess, we wouldn't be together." 

"And I wouldn't be alive." The clear, beautiful English voice shocked Fraser more than it is possible to describe, words coming as if from nowhere, but he knew immediately who it was. Darcy. She was awake. 

"We ought to be going now," Lucy said, seeing the shock in Fraser's face and pulling Carter with her toward the door. "Nice seeing you again. Thank your partner for us when you see him..." And as quick as that they were gone. Fraser was alone in the room with her, with Darcy. 

"You didn't know I was awake?" Ben shook his head, unable to look at her. "I thought that was why you were here." She paused, taking a deep breath and turning to sit on the edge of the bed facing him, wincing and groaning with the pain. "So, why *are* you here?" 

"I, uh, well, that is..."

"Ben, just tell me." 

"I came to see my partner, but I came here instead. I don't know why. I should leave." 

"No!" Darcy's voice stopped him as he was turning to the door; it was different to the last time he'd heard it but in some ways the same, despite the English accent in lieu of the Southern US one. "Don't go, Ben. I want to apologise first." He frowned. 

"Apologise? What do you want to apologise for? I'm the one who took, uh, took advantage of you, made love to you, and you're only eighteen...I should be apologising, not you." 

"Ben, look at me. I said look at me." His eyes flickered up and met hers. She smiled. "Thanks. Now listen to me. In no way, shape or form did you take advantage of me. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I was the one who did all the advantage taking, believe me - you were kind to me and I talked you into bed, got you involved in all of this, almost got your partner killed, Ray...If I'd known he was your partner I would have left you alone. I'm sorry, Ben. I didn't mean to get you involved in all this but I couldn't help myself. So I'm sorry." 

"I'm sorry, too." 

"From what I've been told, you saved my life. You have nothing to be sorry for. But thanks. And now, I don't want you to think I'm trying to get rid of you, but isn't there someone else you should be seeing? I know he wants to see you." Fraser nodded, looking down but feeling a little better for talking to her, especially as she didn't blame him.

"I guess so," he said, turning again. "Thank you kindly, Miss Giger-Dahmer."

"Call me Darcy," she told him. He opened the door. "Oh, and Ben?" 

"Yes?"

"You were great, by the way." 

"Great? How do you mean?" He turned back to her, standing in the doorway. She grinned mischievously, dark eyes shining. 

"You are *so* naive. Don't take that as an insult - I love it, it's adorable. And I mean in bed, Ben; you were great in bed. Ray's a very lucky man."

"He is?" he questioned, blushing deep red, the colour of his uniform.

"Yes, he is, and so are you. You'll be happy together." 

"Oh? Oh! No, no, there's nothing like that...we're just, well, Ray and I are just, uh, good friends, and..." 

"Sure, Ben, sure. I believe you. Now go!" And noting her mischievous, knowing grin once more, Fraser did exactly as he was told. He left the room. 

\---

Ben wasn't sure exactly what she'd meant as he ran the conversation over in his head, walking down the corridor, but he did and didn't like what she'd implied. Then again, all that mattered was she was okay and Ray wanted to see him, he reasoned. And he did want to see Ray, despite his nerves, which grew more fraught with each step he took. Then he was there, suddenly. He turned to the door, sighed, coughed a little, breathed deeply, and knocked. 

"Yeah, come in." Ray's voice brought a smile to his lips, and he turned the handle, swinging the door forward, stepping in then closing it behind him. Only then did he dare look over at the bed, at his partner. 

He was lying under a blanket, pale, blonde hair sticking up every which way, his back turned and as far as Fraser could tell, wearing a flimsy hospital gown. He still looked ill but definitely better than the last time he'd been there, unconscious, near death. 

"Hello, Ray." Fraser's voice cut through the silence and Kowalski flinched, then turned quickly but awkwardly, his multiple dressings apparent under the gown. 

"Frase?" Fraser nodded, removing his hat and playing with the rim as he held it in his hands, unable to look up. 

"Hello, Ray," he repeated. 

"Ya haven't seen me in a week, I coulda died and all you've got to say is 'Hello, Ray'?" 

"Sorry, Ray." 

"Don't be; you're here now." 

"Yes, it would appear that I am." Pause. Silence. "Well, uh, how are you feeling, Ray?" 

"Like I got shot. But I'll live. You?"

"Me, Ray? Oh, I'm quite well, thank you." 

"Fraser?"

"Yes, Ray?"

"D'ya think you could look at me and not at the hat? I know it's like sacred and stuff but you're talking to me, not it." 

"I quite honestly don't know, Ray." 

"Don't know what?"

"Whether I can look at you and not at the hat, Ray." 

"Is it really that fascinating?"

"No, not at all, Ray. It *is* quality craftsmanship, but..."

"So am I so repulsive you can't look at me?"

"No, not at all, Ray." 

"So look at me already!" Fraser nodded. And he looked up into his partner's smiling blue eyes. "Y'see, wasn't that difficult." 

"No, Ray." 

"Frase, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Ray." 

"You sure? Nothing bothering you at all?"

"Nothing at all, Ray." 

"Then why are you backed up against the door? C'mon over and sit down - I won't bite." Fraser mentally slapped himself at the image that conjured and walked over to take the chair by Ray's bed. 

"I'm sorry, Ray." Ray frowned. 

"For what?"

"For all this. You shouldn't be here. It's my fault, Ray. I should have stopped it." 

"There was nothing you coulda done, Frase. Trust me - I was there." 

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have been, Ray." 

"Frase, I'm a cop. This is what I do. It's dangerous. Things happen, okay?" 

"No, Ray. It just should not have...I should have...It should've been me." 

"Ya think I woulda let that happen to you?"

"Like I let it happen to you, Ray?"

"That's different." 

"How, Ray? How is it different?"

"Well, I was the one with the gun. Being able to defend myself with something other than politeness is how it's different." 

"This should..."

"Stop it. Just stop it. It's not your fault, I don't blame you. Get it?"

"Understood, Ray. Perhaps I should go now..."

"Don't you dare." 

"But I..."

"I said 'Don't you dare'."

"I heard you, Ray, but..."

"I said 'DON'T YOU DARE'!"

"Understood, Ray." 

"I mean, God, Frase, the first time I've seen you since the night I had the operation..." 

"You saw me then?"

"Sure. I mean, that was you, right?" Fraser took a deep breath, a very deep breath, suddenly petrified. 

"Did you, uh, do you remember anything I said at all?"

"I don't think so." 

"It's important. Do you remember anything? Anything at all?" Ray shook his head, slowly. Fraser watched, relieved and mesmerised by the muscles in Ray's neck, under his skin. He just felt like he could reach out and...no. Not a good idea. 

"Why, Frase? Was it something important?"

"No, no, nothing important, Ray." And he smiled. He'd got away with it. He didn't remember. 

"Oh good. I'd hate to think I'd forgotten something important like..."

"Like what, Ray?" Fraser wasn't really listening, lost in relief, staring out of the window at the park across the street. He felt happier than he had in a long time, but...

"Like, oh, I don't know, that you love me?"

"Oh my God." 

"You honestly think I'd forget something like that?"

"But you were under anaesthetic!"

"I was coming out of it. And that kind of thing tends to stick in your mind." 

"Oh God, God...I'm sorry, Ray." He stood and made for the door, almost running. 

"Fraser. Frase. Frazoor. Goddamnit, BEN!" Fraser stopped dead, facing the door. Ray moved awkwardly, gasping with pain, but made it to the floor and over the room to him. "Turn around." Fraser didn't like that tone one bit. Ray was really angry. "I said 'turn around'." He did as he was told, looking down. "Look at me. Don't make me ask you twice." Fraser looked up; Ray's blue eyes were blazing. 

"I'm sorry, Ray - I..."

"Shut up." Fraser closed his open mouth, just as Ray's hands connected with his chest and shoved him with surprising force into the wooden door. "Did ya think you could just leave after that? Jesus, Fraser!" Ray leant forward, one hand either side of Fraser's shoulders. 

"I..."

"For God's sake, Frase, shut up." Fraser nodded, sadly; Ray shifted his weight so he stood even closer. Fraser could feel his breath on his cheek as he leaned in toward his ear. "I didn't say I didn't like it." 

"Ray?"

"Shh." He could feel Ray's stubble against his cheek now, rough but not unwelcome. "You're making me lose my train of thought. Aw, fuck it." And he kissed him. Suddenly, taking him completely by surprise, off guard. A tongue swept his lips, entered his mouth, scalding, a body pressed full against him - Fraser was overwhelmed. Ray pulled back and left him gasping. 

"Y'okay, Frase?" A slow, goofy grin spread across his partner's face to mirror his own and he nodded. 

"Oh, I'm quite alright, Ray. Could I ask a favour?" Ray shrugged. "Kiss me again." So he did. And this time Fraser kissed back, tugging Ray to him, gentle enough not to hurt him but rough enough for surprise. The full length of their bodies touching, pressed to the door, together, hot, desperate, needy - Fraser moaned into his partner's mouth as Ray's thigh brushed past his growing erection and Ray smiled. 

"You know I love you too, right?" he whispered. 

"I do now." Ben kissed the pulsing vein in Ray's neck and brushed the hair back from his forehead. 

"And you know I want you?"

"I'd guessed, yes." 

"Then what do we do about it?"

"Well, nothing as long as you're ill and in hospital, Ray." 

"So, I'll get myself discharged." 

"You really shouldn't..."

"You're saying you want to wait another week, two weeks, three?"

"No. Definitely not." 

"Then you're saying you won't take care of me?"

"Of course I will, but..."

"Then go get a nurse." Fraser nodded, Ray stepped back. "Don't be long." He nodded again and blushed as his eyes swept over his partner. "I know - they leave nothing to the imagination. But that's your fault..." Fraser smiled. 

"I know, Ray. And trust me, I intend to do something about it." And he left, leaving Ray astounded, aching and eager to leave, all thoughts of Darcy and her closed case vanished - all he wanted now was Fraser, Ben. he smiled to himself as he dressed, his mind wandering over all the things he could do now, knowing they both felt the same, relieved, excited - he wouldn't have to make do with fantasy anymore. Ben was his now, not Darcy's, and he was Ben's. It was unbelievable, but it was real.

And as they left the hospital that day, happier that they could ever remember being, Darcy watched from her window and smiled. They were in love. And if anyone deserved it, after all they'd been through, it was them. Ben Fraser and Ray Kowalski, together at last, partners in more ways than one.


End file.
